


Forgive Me, Forget Me, For Fuck's Sake Move On

by jenkies81



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #AUWhereThingsAreKindaDifferentButNotALot, #ButItsNotReallyABigDeal, #Kinda, #ThanksForReading, #WTFAmIDoing, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angel Castiel, Angel Wings, Angels vs. Demons, Angst, Bisexual Dean, Bobby's House, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Doctor Sam, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hunter Dean, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Nightmares, Past Torture, Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, War, Weird Plot Shit, Wings, Worried Bobby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:28:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 104,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenkies81/pseuds/jenkies81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*AU where angels and demons belong to a different dimension and possess humans to gain power* </p><p>Dean's a hunter<br/>Sam's a doctor<br/>Bobby's tired of their shit<br/>Cas is some mary-sue hybrid thing...</p><p>LBH, we're here for the romance<br/>There's some background noise about war and vengeance but god-forsaken feelings and Destiel are the main event.</p><p>***<br/>Dean eyes the angel, relived to see no obvious damage. The last thing he wants to do is stitch up a monster at two in the morning. Castiel’s brow glistens with sweat in the lamplight. Dean reaches out a hand and touches his forehead to check for a fever. It’s a reflex. He regrets it instantly. </p><p>Castiel jumps violently as Dean’s skin makes contact with his own. The angel’s head jerks up and he pushes himself back, away from Dean’s hand. He tries to pull his wings around himself, but the broken one is still bound. He cries out in pain, eyes wide with terror.</p><p>“Sorry,” says Dean, quickly withdrawing his hand. He steps back to give the angel some room.</p><p>Color floods into Castiel’s cheeks and he draws his knees to his chest. He covers his head with his arms and sits in silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ambush

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, you can see more at captainlilybob.com
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Bobby is convulsing. Sam’s bleeding out. Dean’s shaking like a leaf and he’s so mad he’s not sure who he’s going to chew out first when they finally come around. Why the fuck didn’t they tell him where they were going? Why didn’t they wait for him to get to Sioux Falls?

Sam called him about an hour ago, shouted a few coordinates then the line went dead. At least he had the sense to call. 

Now, he’s got a dead angel outside and he’s going to have to burn and bury it on his own. He can’t have the body getting reanimated by something worse. Its wings are fucking massive. That’s going to be a problem. The wings usually disappear. 

Dean goes to his little brother first. Sam’s pulse is steady and the wound isn’t as bad as the blood made it look. Dean’s guessing most of the blood isn’t even Sam’s, which means blood loss isn’t the problem like he’d first suspected. He checks Sam’s head—no bumps or blood. It’s got to be a spell, but that’s just a guess. He’s not the doctor in the family, no; Dr. Sam fucking Winchester is currently passed out on the floor of this god-forsaken shack. 

“Fucking monsters.” Dean’s talking to himself. He does it a lot. It keeps him calm. He shouldn’t even be here. 

He checks Bobby. No external injuries, but his eyes keep rolling back in his head and he’s drooling. 

“Bobby!” Dean shouts and gets no reply. This has divinity written all over it. When he’s done in here, he’s going to chop that angel fucker into 100 pieces and mount the wings on a wall. He’s got a nice assortment of individual flight feathers from his kills over the years, but these wings—big, glistening, and midnight black—will be the star of his collection. 

He hears a groan behind him and turns to see Sam blinking and clutching his forehead. Dean runs to his side, anger instantly replaced with relief. 

“What happened?” 

Sam takes a minute to orient himself. “Ambush,” he answers. He spots Bobby and suddenly scrambles to his feet. He crouches next to the older hunter and rolls him onto his side. “Jesus, Dean,” he growls. “Priorities man. Bobby could choke to death like this.” 

Dean is unmoved. “What happened?” He hates repeating himself. 

Bobby stops shaking and Sam holds his fingers against his wrist to check his pulse. “We were ambushed by another hunter. Thought we had the drop on the guy. Don’t know how he knew we were coming. The angel might have warned him.” He brushes his too-long hair out of his face and looks up at Dean. “Can they do that? Can they sense humans?” 

Dean nods, waiting for more information.

“Knew it,” mutters Sam. “Bobby owes me 20 bucks.” 

“If he wakes up,” snaps Dean. He shouldn’t snap. It’s been two years since he’s talked to Sam in person. This isn’t how he wanted their reunion to go. 

“The guy hit us with tranq darts. He’ll come around in a minute.” 

Dean jerks his head to the door of the shack. “I figured the angel got him.” 

Sam perks up. “Angel? He’s still here?” 

“Yeah, genius, it’s outside. Didn’t you kill it?” Again, he shouldn’t be so harsh. 

“He’s dead?” Sam looks like he did when John told him there was no such thing as Santa Claus. He doesn’t give Dean a chance to answer. “Stay with Bobby, I’ll be right back.” He gets to his feet, moving entirely too fast for someone who was just unconscious a second ago, and lumbers outside. 

Dean takes watch over Bobby. Sam’s a big guy, pushing six and a half feet. Their attacker should have hit Sam twice if he’d wanted him to stay down. 

Bobby’s breathing is back to normal and his eyes are shut. He’s still and appears to be sleeping. 

“Dean!” His brother is shouting from outside. Dean is on his feet and out the door in a flash, old habits die-hard. He freezes when he sees Sam. 

His pain-in-the-ass, dickhead, stubborn baby brother has hoisted the blood-soaked angel into a sitting position and is trying to lift it all by himself. “Can you push his wings into place?” Sam grunts the question as he shifts the creature’s body. 

“Sammy, just leave it,” says Dean. “I’ll hack it up and burn it once—”

“No!” Sam shouts, looks angry, then looks horrified. He finally settles on an expression somewhere between kicked puppy and guilty toddler. “He’s not dead.”

Instinct and muscle memory take over and Dean’s got his bowie knife in his hand. Sam has to drop the angel back down on the ground and stand over it to stop Dean from slitting its throat. 

“What the hell Sammy?” They don’t have time to do this right. Dean needs to act while the thing can’t fight back. 

The shuffle of boots on gravel distracts both brothers. Bobby’s up. He’s rubbing his head and has his other hand pressed against the side of the shack to support himself. “I told you not to call him,” says Bobby. 

“I thought we were dying,” snaps Sam. 

“Well you thought wrong, Doc,” says Bobby. 

Dean takes advantage of their engagement and lunges for the angel. He underestimates Sam’s reflexes. Dean’s on his back and Sam’s working to disarm him. He succeeds and pins Dean to the ground. John Winchester taught his sons well. If he were here, Dean’s sure he’d be proud to see Sam hasn’t forgotten his training. Dean shakes his head. He can’t think about his damn dead dad right now. 

“Dean,” Sam says his name like a warning, “I need you to be calm. I’ve got some shit I need to explain, but first, I need you to help me get the angel in the van.” 

Dean glares, but nods. He’s curious now. It’s not Sam’s fault he’s keeping secrets; Winchesters are genetically predisposition to lie. 

Sam and Bobby parked a quarter of a mile down the road. Bobby leaves to bring their van up to the shack. Sam doesn’t seem to trust Dean alone with the creature. They don’t speak while they wait for Bobby. They’ve got a lot of shit to talk about and now just isn’t the time. Instead, Dean starts making a mental list of questions to ask Sam. He’ll bring them up once they’re back at Bobby’s ranch and everybody’s got a drink in their hand. Sam had a lot of explaining to do _before_ this shit show, now Dean figures interrogating him will take the rest of the evening. 

When Bobby pulls up, Dean rolls his eyes. Of all the cars at Bobby’s disposal, their ride is a fugly two-ton monstrosity of a pedo-van. Sam slides the door open and instructs Dean on the best way to situate the angel. Dean doesn’t need instructions. He knows how to handle possessed bodies. He shoves the angel’s wings in place and Sam snaps at him. 

“Be careful.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, but tries to be gentler with the other wing. He’s dismembered enough of these to know which parts go where. John taught his boys to be cautious and clinical around monsters. Their training shaped them. Sam’s a damn good doctor with a great marriage and an almost normal life. Dean’s just a psychopath. 

Dean grips the large bone near the shoulder and, following Sam’s orders, carefully encourages the rest of the wing to fold at the joint. The angel twitches and Dean checks to make sure it’s still unconscious. 

The angel’s possessed a white male with dark hair who looks to be somewhere in his late 30s to early 40s. Dean makes sure to absorb his features so he can see if someone’s got a missing persons ad out for him. The human is beyond saving, there’s nothing Dean can do if he left behind a grieving family. Still, Dean likes to know, a habit he picked up from his father. He keeps a record of people who’ve died due to possession and at the top of the list is Mary Winchester—his mother. 

Now isn’t the time to think about that shit. It’s never the time. He focuses on the wing and only then does he notice how badly both wings are damaged. They’re crusted with blood and pale skin peaks through where patches of feathers are missing. Dean stops pulling on the joint and runs his fingers down the length of the massive bone. It’s fractured in two places. 

“Broken wing,” he grunts. 

“Shit,” mutters Sam. He pushes Dean aside and inspects the wing. Dean surrenders to his brother’s medical expertise. Sam sets the wing and gently folds it in place. 

Dean doesn’t ask why he’s bothering to be so careful with a monster. He’s sure it’s a hell of a story. He keeps his mouth shut while they load the creature and secure it. Dean deserves a fucking metal for how patient he’s being.

They’re 30 minutes away from Bobby’s. Dean tails behind them his dad’s old car. Dean’s car. With John dead, the 1967 black Impala is his now. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter and curses under his breath. Sam drives like he’s 90. They reach the ranch 45 minutes later and Dean is again silent and obedient as they unload the angel. They set it down on a gurney that Bobby apparently had waiting, then Sam turns to him. 

“We fixed up one of the cabins for you.” Sam points across the two-acre front lawn to a row of three guest cabins. Bobby built them years ago when the ranch was actually a ranch instead of ground-control for monster hunters. 

“Is that your way of telling me to beat it?” asks Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Sam sighs and suddenly looks ten years older. “Please,” he says. “We’ll meet you over there in an hour. Door’s unlocked. It’s the one on the right.” 

Dean bites his bottom lip and eyes his brother in a futile attempt to decode him. He fails and surrenders. “Fine. See you in an hour.” He turns on his heels and goes to sulk in the cabin. 

He gives Sam and Bobby half an hour to get comfortable before he sneaks back up to the main house. The door’s locked because Bobby is the master of keeping secrets. It doesn’t matter; this isn’t the first time he’s been locked out of the house. It takes him three shots to guess the right code for the garage. The large metal door rumbles and groans as it slides up against the ceiling. Dean slips in and makes sure it shuts behind him. He’d be worried about the noise, but most of the rooms in the main house are soundproof. Bobby relies on surveillance cams and his bizarrely accurate sixth-sense to alert him of danger. 

Dean’s pretty sure they took the angel down to the chop shop (loving named for all the creatures that have been dismembered in the room) in the sublevel of the house. Last time Dean was down there he was a teenager. He gets into the house via the door connecting the kitchen to the garage. He creeps through the halls trying not to think about how long it’s been since he’s actually been in this house. 

Sam was 16 when he put his foot down and refused to go back with his family. Dean had just finished packing his duffle into the trunk of the Impala when he heard John and Bobby shouting. Sam was standing behind Bobby, cheeks burning red and tears in his eyes, but the way he was staring at John—it was like he’d decided his father was the devil incarnate. John and Dean left without Sam. That was about 15 years ago. Bobby gave them regular updates and the four of them would meet up on the road every now and then, but John never went back to the ranch. Sam went to med school. Bobby and Dean went to his graduation. John showed up for dinner, but didn’t stay long. That was the last time Sam saw John. 

Dean rubs a hand over his face. Sioux Falls always has this effect on him. It’s always like coming back to a home he was never allowed to want. He focuses on finding the way down to the basement. He’s careful going down the stairs. He can’t remember which ones creek. Once he’s finally down into the dark musty underbelly of the house, he hears a door slam shut and Bobby lets out a string of obscenities. 

“That little bastard bit me,” says Bobby. He sounds shocked, pissed and downright offended.

“I told you not to touch him,” says Sam. Bobby mutters something back in response.

Dean sneaks closer until he can see them standing in the pale florescent light outside of the entrance to the chop shop. A heavy-looking metal door and about seven locks secure the room. Clearly Bobby has done some upgrades. This place looks more like a legit dungeon than the glorified closet it use to be. 

“I thought he’d be angrier,” says Sam. 

“At least he’s talking to us,” grumbles Bobby. Sam’s tending to his hand. “We’ll need to get Jess down here to check out his mental state.” 

Sam laughs. “I think we know his mental state.”

Dean rolls his eyes. They’re wasting time. There’s no reason to delve into the angel’s mind. They need to kill it and be done.

“I’m tryin’ to be serious,” says Bobby. “He’s been through a lot since your daddy died. Hell, he’d been through a lot before that. You both have.” 

Dean frowns. It takes him a moment to realize they’re talking about him now, and not the angel. 

“I know,” says Sam. He lets out his breath in a puff. “I shouldn’t have left him.” 

Bobby yanks his hand back and finishes wrapping the gauze on his own. “What’d I tell you about thinkin’ like that? It’s survivor’s guilt. You got out and you’re better off for it. John didn’t do Dean any favors, but the boy’s not broken.” 

Sam nods. “I know. He’s strong. I just worry about him.” 

Bobby puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You can stop worrying, son. We’ve got him back. It was my mistake letting him go the first time, not yours. I’d be a fool to let him wander off again.” 

For a second, Sam looks like the same little boy who use to ride in the back seat and play with army men during long trips across the country. He seems so small and vulnerable and Dean has to fight every instinct telling him to go check on his brother. 

After a moment of silence, Sam speaks. “He’s going to hate me when he finds out.” 

Bobby rolls his eyes. “News flash, son. That boy’s not capable of hating you. It’s going to take him a while to understand, but he will. Hell, you convinced me, didn’t you?” 

Sam nods and seems to feel better. Dean feels a stab of guilt for not being the one to comfort his brother. How many times in the past has Sam needed a friend and Dean’s not been there for him? How many times has Sam been upset and Dean didn’t know because he was too far away, or too busy to pick up his phone? 

Dean pulls a flask from his pocket and takes a nice, deep pull. Whiskey can’t heal, but it sure as hell helps the pain. It’s his own fault Sam doesn’t feel comfortable talking to him. Dean’s an abrasive, stubborn, monster-hunting SOB. Sam’s compassionate, fearless, and a healer. 

When he first found out what Sam did for a living, Dean pitched a massive bitch-fit. Angels, demons and other creatures from their dimension sometimes cross over into this world. They can’t sustain their true forms here, so they possess humans—pose as men and women and prey on their life-force. Most people don’t know about the monsters, but hunters know. It’s their job to know. It’s their job to see the signs and kill the poor bastard the monster’s possessing. It’s impossible to save someone after possession. 

Dean’s seen more than one occasion where a creature left the human, but the human still retained some of the creature’s power—almost like they were still tied together. It drives the victims mad. Possession means death. No exceptions. 

That is, unless you’re Dr. Sam Winchester and Dr. Jessica Winchester, and now apparently Bobby freaking Singer. Sam and Jess started a rehab facility in Oregon where they try to heal and help people after possession. They claim it works. Dean’s just waiting for the inevitable day when Sam realizes his, and his wife’s work has been an exercise in futility. If people could be saved, John would have found a way to save their mother. If people could be saved, Dean might be able to save her still. He can’t afford to think like that. Hope gets people killed. He takes another drink. 

Suddenly, something crashes into the door of the chop shop from the inside. Those two idiots haven’t killed the angel yet. 

Sam looks to the door, then looks to Bobby. Dean decides to come out from hiding. Sam sees him first. 

“God dammit, Dean,” he says. “I told you to wait.” 

“I did wait,” says Dean. 

“It hasn’t been an hour,” says Sam, glancing at his watch to be sure. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough to know you two need help,” says Dean. 

“As much as I hate to admit it,” says Bobby, “you’re right. We could use your help on this one.”

“What the hell, Bobby?” exclaims Sam. 

Bobby holds up his hands in defense. “You know humans, but your brother knows monsters. We’re not going to get anywhere with the angel unless we can figure out a way to talk to it.” 

“Is it mute or something?” asks Dean. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “No. Angels can’t speak in human form, and I don’t know their language well enough to write to it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Fucking amateur hour. Monsters can speak; most choose not to around humans. “So you want me to get in there and kill the angel, but save the man?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” says Sam slowly. “I don’t think that’s a man.” 

“Not right now it isn’t,” snaps Dean. He can’t help himself. He knows Sam is already feeling vulnerable. He should be nicer. He should be a lot of things he isn’t. 

“It’s a hybrid,” says Bobby, apparently tired of the Winchesters pussyfooting around the issue. “There’s not a human to save and there’s no angel hiding under that skin. We’re looking at something I’ve never seen before and frankly, didn’t think was possible.” 

“But,” says Dean, “you don’t know for sure because you can’t talk to it.” 

“Bingo,” says Bobby. 

“Why do you think it’s a half-breed?” asks Dean. He’s heard rumors of otherworldly beings mating with or raping humans to create something new. But, he’s never seen it before and figured it was just a tall tale designed to keep hunters hyper-vigilant. 

“His powers are weaker than they should be,” says Sam, “even injured. And when we found him he had…” Sam struggles to find his words for a second. “He was in bad shape. His wing were…” He chokes again so Bobby takes over. 

“Somebody was keeping him as a pet,” says Bobby. The disgust is obvious in his voice. “They had him caged. We found a journal with him with all kinds of records from blood tests and x-rays and physical exams. We’re pretty sure this guy is at least partially human.” 

“And,” says Sam, “his wings don’t disappear. So either he’s something new, or he’s a hybrid.” 

“Hybrids are a myth,” says Dean. 

“Actually,” begins Sam, and Dean just hates it when his brother gets that tone, “genetically speaking it is possible, it’s just not common.” 

Dean’s too tired for this shit and his brain’s too busy trying to keep his memories at bay. He shrugs. “Ok then. What’d you want me to do?” 

“He’s restrained,” says Sam. “We were hoping you could go in and see if you can figure out a way to communicate with him. He’s pretty freaked out, but I think he’s stopped throwing things. I really need to check on his wounds or I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.” 

“Fine,” says Dean. “But if I do this, I do it alone.” 

“No—” Sam starts to protest, but Bobby cuts him off. 

“Deal. But you can’t kill him and you can’t hurt him,” says Bobby. “You got to trust your brother on this one.” 

“Whatever,” grumbles Dean. “I’ll be back in a second.” He goes to his car and retrieves a Kevlar vest, his bowie knife, a handgun, and a flask full of the concoction his dad called “holy water.” It’s basically acid, but Dean can’t remember how exactly John created it. He’s got the recipe somewhere. He spilled some on his boots once. The liquid hissed, bubbled, then ate through the leather before Dean had a chance to get his foot out. He ended up with third-degree burns. He’s still got the scar. 

Sufficiently armored up, he returns to the chop shop. Sam is obviously reluctant, but he lets Dean go in alone and shuts the door behind him. 

The first thing Dean realizes is that the chop shop is no longer a chop shop—it’s a fucking recovery room. Dean rolls his eyes. If John knew about this, he’d never let Bobby live it down. They use to come here to dissect and dispose of monsters, not host them like it’s a goddamn B&B. There’s a bed instead of a table. The walls are covered in pictures instead of knives. The water hose is a makeshift shower and there’s even a goddamn stall for the toilet. Dean snorts. The term “creature comforts” has never been truer. 

Something moves in the corner and Dean sees the angel is sitting on the back corner of the bed, withdrawn and tucked against the wall with its wings pulled forward around it’s shoulders. It looks submissive, but the wings twitch and give it away. It’s prepared to attack and defend. It’s in bad shape, but Dean can’t afford to underestimate it. He approaches slowly. 

“Those two knuckleheads outside think you can’t talk,” says Dean. He pulls a small notebook and a pen out of his pocket and scribbles something down in Enochian, the language of angels and demons. Dean is by no means fluent in the language and he can’t speak it, but he knows enough to get by. “I know better. I’ve heard your kind speak before.” 

The angel’s eyes are a piercing blue and they follow Dean’s every move.

“What do you call yourself?” asks Dean. 

The angel doesn’t answer. 

Dean approaches the bed slowly. He can see the angel’s restrained to bed frame. He sets the note down in front of it. “You don’t have to answer,” says Dean. “A little bird tells me you’re part human, part angel, so for now, you can just be Half-Breed.” 

As Dean backs away the angel lunges and that’s exactly what he was hoping would happen. He gets his knife out first. If the angel attacks him, he can kill it and claim self-defense and Sammy won’t be able to say jack-shit about it. 

Turns out, the angel must have broken free of its restraints after Sam and Bobby left, because the chains aren’t attached to the bed anymore. It tackles Dean to the ground and he can tell it’s using every ounce of strength it has left to try and kill him. It knocks the knife from his hand, but fails to do much more. It’s much stronger than it looked when he first saw it, but in the end it’s not enough. Dean delivers a few well-placed right hooks and the angel crumples. It lands its broken wing and hisses in pain. It starts to push itself back up and manages to get up on its knees, but it’s too weak. It’s bleeding, bruised, and exhausted. It stares at the floor while Dean reaches for his gun. Bullets can’t kill an angel in its true form, but when they’re bound to a body, they’re vulnerable. The only problem is, once you shoot the monster, you also kill the human. But this thing isn’t human, not according to Sam. Dean can shoot it and not have to worry about the residual guilt of taking an innocent life. 

Dean stalks around to stand in front of the creature. Its wings hang low, uncomfortably bent with its body so low on the floor. It takes several deep breaths, then slowly raises its head to meet Dean’s gaze. It’s making itself very clear. It knows it’s going to die, it’s ready, and it’s not going to fight anymore. 

His hand itches on the trigger, but Dean can’t bring himself to shoot. Something about the fucking look the angel is giving him throws him off. It lost the fight. It knows it lost and it’s ashamed. It knows it can’t win and it’s just ready for this to fucking be over. It’s tired, broken—it’s defeated on a level Dean isn’t sure he understands. He knows that look is going to haunt him. 

He lowers the gun and backs away from the angel. He can’t look into those eyes anymore. They’re hopeless and Dean’s own hopelessness is reflected back in them. He grabs his knife from the floor, makes sure his other weapons are secure, then hurries out of the room. 

Sam’s on him the minute he emerges. “Well?” his brother asks eagerly.

“That thing has death wish,” says Dean. “Best thing you can do is put it out of its misery.” He doesn’t know why he says that. It’s not like he had the courage to kill it. 

Sam starts to pry, but Dean doesn’t want to talk right now—can’t talk right now. He leaves without another word and retreats back to his cabin where a bottle of Black Velvet is waiting for him.


	2. The Truth, or Most of It

It’s hours before someone knocks on Dean’s door. He’s not surprised to see Sam when he opens it. They both know they need to talk and Sam knows Dean deserves an explanation. The fact that Dean retreated back to the cabin without initiating his interrogation is a suggestion of his exhaustion. The fact that he’s still clutching the bottle of Black Velvet is a confirmation. 

He vaguely remembers Sam and Bobby discussing Dean’s well being earlier. Sam probably called his shrink wife and asked for advice on handling his miserable big brother. Dean shouldn’t be bitter. Sam’s just trying to help. Hell, that he even wants to help after all these years might mean their relationship is in better shape than Dean suspected. Dean leans against the doorframe. He’s made all these assumptions before Sam’s even had the chance to speak. 

Sam rubs the back of his neck and he can’t seem to hold eye contact with Dean for very long. “We uh…” he begins, “we need your help.” 

Dean nods. “Let me grab my gun.” Even buzzed he can kill an angel—hell, he could probably do it three sheets to the wind, blindfolded, with one hand tied behind his back. Maybe if he drinks some more he’ll actually be able to follow through this time. 

But Sam shakes his head and stops him. “No, we—it—we think it’s trying to talk to us.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sammy,” Dean grumbles. “I told you the best thing you can do is just let it die.”

“It wrote us a note,” says Sam. He digs a sheet of paper out of his pocket and shows it to Dean.

Dean recognizes it as the note he left on the angel’s bed earlier. In Enochian, he’d asked the angel for its name. Beneath his question is the angel’s Enochian reply.

_If you will not kill me, then let me go._

“I know you’re already more involved than you want to be,” says Sam, “but he’s not talking to us. I need to treat his new injuries. We’ve had him for about a week and he hasn’t tried to communicate until now—it would mean—it would mean a lot if you’d help me.” 

Dean’s eyes snap up from the paper to his little brother. Sam’s face is already pale. He knows his mistake. “A week?” barks Dean. “You’ve had that fucker for a week? I thought you found him today?” 

“I can explain,” says Sam. 

“You’ve been promising to explain since I found you three this afternoon and so far I’ve gotten jack shit for an answer.” 

“It’s hard to tell you—” 

“Bull shit. You just don’t want to tell me.” 

At that, Sam leans in, using the full advantage of his height to loom over Dean. “It’s hard to tell you because you don’t listen. I know you’ll get pissed before you even try to understand, and this,” he points back to the main house, “means a lot to me. This is my life, Dean. I know you’re not happy with it. I know I’m an embarrassment to you and your trigger-happy drinking buddies. I know you love me because I’m blood, but hate me because of what I do. I know I’m a disappointment to the Winchester name. You don’t have to like it, or approve of it, but don’t fucking get mad at me if I don’t confide in you.” 

Sam’s red in the face when he finishes his rant. He’s still posturing. Still looming. Dean could easily step forward and back him down—respond to the challenge and use Sam’s instinctual respect for his big brother against him—but he doesn’t. Sam has clearly been holding that in for a while and Dean suspects more than half of that was meant for John. But John’s dead and the next best thing is Dean. That thought sickens him a little. He never wanted to be like his father. 

He takes another pull of whiskey and looks away from Sam. He knows a normal, functional, well-adjusted human being would say something comforting right now. He knows he has as much explaining to do as Sam does. He knows he should put the liquor down and hug his brother and tell him he’s so fucking proud because Sam got out, because Sam had the courage to break away from their fucked up little family, because Sam made a life for himself and he’s healthy and happy and he found love in a loveless world. Dean’s so proud of him. Sam’s smart and brave and passionate and a million other things Dean knows _he_ isn’t. 

When another gulp of liquor burns down his throat he realizes why he really came back to Sioux Falls. He came back for Sam. 

And Sam’s still looking at him. He’s relaxed a little, but Dean can feel his eyes trying to burn into him—trying to figure out what Dean’s thinking. Dean owes him. John owes him. Somebody needs to tell Sam he’s still a Winchester—still a member of the family. Finally, Dean realizes that’s the real challenge here. Sam’s daring Dean to confirm Sam’s status as the family disgrace. 

Dean sets the bottle down at his feet, takes a step forward and puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder. His brother’s scowl deepens and his jaw clenches. He’s ready to fight. 

“Sammy,” Dean begins, “you’re the best of us. You always have been.” 

Sam suddenly shrinks back to 8 years old and his face relaxes. God—is that really all it takes? Could this have been fixed years ago with just a few words? Dean’s a fucking asshole. 

“Dad and I,” Dean’s voice falters a bit, “we’re so fucking proud of you, Sammy. You were never an embarrassment. You are all the things I never could be.” Feelings, confessions, tears of atonement—these are not things Dean does. But, he’ll do anything for Sam and Sam needs to know that.

Dean doesn’t get to say more because Sam has him trapped in a suffocating hug. Sam’s shaking, Dean’s shaking, they’re both in tears and maybe everything isn’t perfect, but it’s better. Dean pulls away first. Sam’s shoulders are hunched and he’s peering, bleary-eyed, through his bangs. 

“When you and Dad left,” Sam says quietly, “ I quit talking for about a week. Bobby was great, but I was still adjusting, you know?” 

Dean nods. 

“I was so fucking lost, but then—I guess you guys had just finished a case—you called me.” Sam gives him a little half smile.

Dean knows this is going to break his heart. 

“As soon as I heard you—knew you weren’t gone forever—I was fine.” Sam’s voice cracks. “For a while I lived off of those calls and I’d track you guys to figure out when I could see you again.” He laughs. “I had a map.” He’s tearing up again and he can’t keep talking. 

“I’m sorry Sammy.” It’s not enough. “I should have stayed with you. I let Dad come between us. I’m so fucking sorry. You have no idea how much I regret—”

“Yeah, I do.” Sam interrupts him. “I bet you regret leaving as much as I regret staying.” 

“You were right to stay,” says Dean. “You didn’t miss anything. Dad’s drinking got worse and his temper got shorter. By the time we found the son of a bitch that possessed mom, Dad was too fucked up to fight it and I…I couldn’t save him.” Dean’s not ready to tell that story. Sam knows some of it. Dean called him the night it happened—drunk, because like father, like son—and gave him the rundown. John found the demon. He fought. It won. It got away. Dean left out the gory details. 

Sam must be able to tell Dean’s not comfortable saying more, because he slaps him on the shoulder and offers the trademark Winchester-bury-your-feelings-grin. “Will you talk to the angel?”

Dean will do anything Sam asks. “Yeah,” he answers, “but you’ve got to tell me the whole story. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”


	3. Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding a few new chapters with Cas' pov (updated 9/9/16)

The dirt is wet against his cheek. He’s laying in his own drool again. He blinks and lifts his head out of the mud. He doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious. The last quake drained him. He strains to get to his knees and crawl toward a dirty bucket of water. The chain around his ankle is heavy but at least his wrists are free. It’s not worth standing. With his wings bound he is unbalanced and his body is so weak, he’s lucky he can crawl. He leans his head into the bucket and drinks. 

His owner has been gone for days. Maybe weeks, Castiel’s lost count. He ran out of food yesterday. The bucket is only a third of the way full. He will starve or die of thirst if the hunter does not return. Castiel leans back against the cool metal wall of his prison, one hand on the bucket. His wings are pinched. They are always pinched. He closes his eyes and shoves. The remaining water washes over the dirt and sinks into the thirsty ground. 

xxx 

Castiel rests on his side, palm against the ground. He cannot feel his grace. At his strongest, the most he can do is send a weak tremor through the earth. It makes his prison shake, but nothing more.

He can hear people in their machines as they pass by in the distance. The road to his prison is far away. He saw it once, years ago. He doesn’t bother screaming anymore. Human ears can’t hear him. Not from this distance. Or maybe they just don’t care. 

He takes a breath and sputters as dust invades his lungs. There’s a loud rumbling sound approaching. His owner. He always returns just in time to pull Castiel back from the edge of freedom. A nauseating mix of relief and loathing spread through him. 

He was ungrateful to throw away his water. His life is not his own. His owner will be angry. He will beat Castiel, but then he will feed him and the acidic, gnawing pain in Castiel’s stomach will go away. He needs to get to the center of his cell. He needs to kneel and beg for forgiveness. He needs to set the bucket upright so his owner will not know he wasted what he was given. If Castiel had not been so greedy, his supplies would have lasted longer. 

 _Ungrateful_. 

He tries to push himself up, but his arms shake and collapse beneath his weight. He hears voices. He groans and his throat burns. Not again. He can’t watch another one die. The voices fade. He closes his eyes. 

xxx 

“Brace yourself. God only knows what he’s got in there.” 

Castiel cracks his eyes open. The voices are at the door. How long did he sleep? How long have they been here?

“My money’s on a family member,” says a voice. “See those pictures? I bet someone got possessed and he couldn’t kill them.” 

That’s not his owner. Castiel grits his teeth. 

“Back away from the door. I don’t want you to get hit.” 

“Knock first. We need to know if something’s in there.” 

A heavy fist pounds against the metal. Castiel stares in the direction of the sound. New humans. New people to inflict pain. New people he needs to please. 

“I bet it has something to do with the wings in the bedroom.” 

Castiel clutches one hand to his stomach and dry heaves. His father’s wings. 

“Anybody home?” calls a voice. 

“Just let me blow the door down. I’ll be careful.” 

“No don’t—shit—did you already light it?” 

“It’s slow burning. Don’t worry.” 

They pound against the wall again. “If anybody’s in there, stay back. We’re blowing down the door.” 

That cannot possibly be a good thing. Castiel covers his head with his arms. 

The following sound is deafening. Castiel’s ears are ringing. He lifts his head. Light is pouring in and two large black figures are coming toward him. He cannot make out their faces. The sun is too bright and there is too much dust. He blinks but cannot see more. 

One human, the largest, grabs him. Castiel twists away, panic and instinct feeding on the last of his strength. The other human reaches for him. Castiel flails as they pull him to his feet. His fist connects with something soft. He twists again as arms attempt to wrap around him. He hits something again. His hand is wet. Blood? 

He’s certain the humans are talking. He can make out the blurry outline of their faces. They seem to be angry. He still can’t hear them over the ringing. He strikes something again and his knees buckle. They should just kill him. He feels something sharp dig into his neck. The world spins. He blacks out.

xxx 

Castiel wakes up, cheek pressed against something soft. He’s still dizzy. He tries to move but something is connected to his arm. A needle is embedded in his skin. It’s attached to a long tube that leads to a clear bag. He shifts and sits up. 

As he moves, his legs slide over the edge of sleeping area. He jumps back, pulling the tube and bag down. He’s in a bed. He’s not on the ground. He’s not in his cage. He’s in a strange room with assorted equipment and dim artificial lighting. 

He looks down at his legs. He’s clothed. At least, his lower half is clothed. Across the room, the large door swings open and two men rush toward him. 

Castiel pulls his wings closer to shield himself. 

 _Wings._  

He flexes his shoulders and his back and tests his wings. 

The men are shouting. 

Castiel’s wings are free. Suddenly, he’s standing and his wings are free. He glares at the new humans and yanks the needle from his arm. 

“Don’t do that,” says the larger human. 

Castiel growls, and lunges. Both humans attempt to restrain him. Something sharp drives into his neck again. He falls. 

xxx 

“He’s in bad shape.” 

“He’ll pull through.” 

“He can’t even make his wings disappear and he hasn’t tried to blast us once. He just keeps flailing his arms. That boy’s gonna hurt himself or one of us.” 

Laughter. “You’re just mad because he clocked you in the nose back at the silo.” 

“Hang on, is he awake?” 

It takes a minute for his eyes to focus. The two men are standing over him. Castiel is in the bed again with the needle in his arm. His entire body aches. 

The larger human sits down in a chair and leans forward. “Take it easy,” he says. “You’re safe. We’re not going to hurt you.” 

The other man remains standing. He has facial hair and a sour expression. “I’m Bobby and this is Sam,” he says. 

Castiel tries to focus on them. He tries to sit up, but can’t seem to make his muscles corporate. 

“You’re on some heavy pain killers,” says the large human. “I don’t want to keep drugging you, but I need to keep you calm. You were very weak when we found you.” 

“He doesn’t look like he gives a damn,” says the angry bearded human. 

“What is your name?” asks the large human. 

 _Never again._  

Castiel presses his lips into a firm line and glares. 

“That’s ok,” says the large human. “You don’t have to tell us anything.” 

“Ten bucks says he can’t understand you,” says the bearded human. 

“Can you understand me?”

Castiel glares. 

The large human sighs. “Ok, I,” he gestures to himself, “am a doctor. He,” he points to his hairy companion, “is my friend. We are going to fix you. But you have to stop fighting us.” He makes his hands in to fists and waves them around. Then shakes his head. 

The bearded human rolls his eyes. “You know who we need, don’t you?” 

“Who?”

“You’re damn brother.” 

“Absolutely not. Dean’s not ready.” 

“He’s heading here anyway.” 

“This will freak him out. He’ll run again.” 

The large human looks away and Castiel tugs the needle from his arm. It bleeds. 

“God dammit,” mutters the bearded human. “He did it again.” 

The large human holds Castiel on the bed and the other inserts the needle. Castiel grits his teeth. His hands are burning. He holds his palm toward the large human and sends him flying across the room. He slams against the wall. 

“Jesus Christ, are you ok?” The bearded human runs to his side. 

Castiel tries to get up but his newfound strength is quickly fading. It was too much. He shouldn’t have tried to fight back so soon. 

“I’m fine,” says the large human. “We’ll dose him again, but we can’t keep him drugged out of his mind. His body can’t take it. I’ve never seen an angel in this condition.” 

Castiel collapses back against the bed. 

xxx

 The large human is sitting beside him when he wakes. He is alone. “Hey,” he says. “How are you feeling?” 

Castiel blinks slowly. His eyes feel sticky and slow. 

“Here,” the human extends a small cylindrical container. “It’s hot chocolate. Well, it’s warm chocolate. I don’t want you to burn yourself.” 

Castiel has no idea what any of that means.

“You drink it.” The human takes a sip and offers it to Castiel again. “It’s not exactly healthy, but it’s good. I thought you might like it.” 

If he refuses, will the human force him to be unconscious again? Castiel takes the cup. The human keeps a hand on it like he’s not sure if Castiel can hold it alone. He takes a sip. The liquid is indeed warm. He frowns. It’s sweet and rich. He swallows it then takes another sip. 

“You like it?” 

He doesn’t dislike it. He’s not sure what purpose it serves. 

The human sighs and sets the mug on the floor. “So, we’ve been talking and we’re really worried about you.” 

What on earth does that mean?  


“I think it might do you some good to sit outside for a little bit. Maybe get some fresh air and some sun. How does that sound?” 

Outside? Outside where? Castiel cocks his head to one side. 

“You can’t fly, but you can stretch your wings. That might help me get a better look at how they’re healing. Is that something you want to do?” 

Castiel stares at him. 

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Let me unhook you, then we’ll go together.” 

Castiel flinches as the human removes the needle. He helps Castiel stand. He seems eerily benign. He supports Castiel all the way across the room, through the already open door, up a flight of stairs, down a hallway, through another door, and then leads him to the honest, unrestricted, bright, beautiful outside. 

Castiel pushes away from him and stumbles forward, grass soft against his bare feet. He kneels to touch it and waits for his eyes to adjust to the sun. It’s bright and warm and open and Castiel is free. He stands and looks back at the human.

“You feel all right?” he asks. 

Castiel thinks he smiles. He means to. He rolls his shoulders, knowing a wave of pain is about to hit him, then slowly unfolds his wings.

The joints are stiff and feel like they’re about to crack. He cannot reach his full wingspan, but it’s more than he’s been able to do in years. He folds them back, then practices unfolding and tucking them one at a time until the pain subsides. 

“Don’t do too much at once.” 

Castiel can do whatever he wants. He’s free. Wings open, he bounces on the balls of his feet a few times. He’s dizzy, but he will not waste another opportunity.

“You can’t fly yet.” 

He bends his knees. 

“Hang on.” 

He launches himself from the ground. 

“No, come back!” The human reaches for him, but Castiel is already airborne. 

He teeters a bit as he tries to let muscle memory take over. He cannot gain enough momentum to fly more than a few feet above the trees, but he’s already outpaced the human running after him.


	4. Two weeks

Sam explains most of it on the way up to the house. When they get down to the basement, Bobby helps fill in the gaps in the story. 

It was by accident that they found the angel. Bobby got a call from another hunter saying weird shit was going down on a farm outside of Tacoma. The hunter said he was too far away to check it out, but figured Bobby would know who to dispatch. 

Bobby took the case himself. Sam and Jess met him in Yakima. They suspected it was a case of madness brought on by possession. People were hearing noises, seeing strange lights, and every now and then the earth around the area would quake. Sometimes humans gain special powers after the monster leaves them. The powers usually kill them if a hunter doesn’t do it first. 

Sam says they got to the farm and found the angel caged inside of a modified grain silo. Sam stops the story there and looks to Bobby for help. 

“He was in bad shape,” says Bobby. “But he was pissed. We knocked him out and had to keep him drugged the whole way home. He’s still in bad shape. Won’t let us get close long enough to finish treatment and we can’t keep drugging him or his heart might give out.” 

“How did you guys end up in the shack?” asks Dean, though he suspects he already knows the answer. 

Sam sighs. “I thought, if he could stretch his wings, maybe see the sun, he’d feel better.” Bobby shoots him a look. Sam shrugs. “I wanted him to feel free. I thought it would help him trust me. So, this morning, I let him go outside.” 

“Instead,” says Bobby, an I-told-you-so-tone coloring his voice, “soon as Sam got the angel outside he broke free and flew off.” 

Dean just shakes his head. “So you weren’t ambushed by a hunter?” 

“No,” says Bobby. “He wasn’t strong enough to fly too fast. We followed him until he crashed. We figured he tired himself out during the flight.”

“And he did,” says Sam, “but he’s strong, Dean. We hit him with a few tranq darts, but he fired back with some angelic something and knocked us both out.” 

“I knew you weren’t tranquilized!” shouts Dean. He should have trusted his gut. He knows angel mojo when he sees it. 

“Yeah, well,” Sam shrugs. “You know the rest of the story from there.” He nods to the door of the modified chop shop. “We need you to tell him we’re trying to help and let him know I want to treat his injuries. Without treatment, I don’t know how long he’s going to last. I did what I could while he was out, but he hurt himself again when he escaped.” 

Dean doesn’t give a shit how long the angel lasts, but that’s not the real issue here. This is a chance for Dean to prove he respects Sam and respects what he does. Sam’s trusting him and acknowledging Dean’s expertise. Dean needs to do the same. If Sam says the angel is worth saving, then the angel is worth saving. 

Dean sighs, rolls his shoulders and looks to his brother. “Ready when you are.” 

xxx

The angel is on the floor with its head bowed. It doesn’t look up when Dean enters. Sam has coached him; told him to be calm and respectful. Why Sam thinks the angel isn’t going to lash out again as soon as it gets the chance, Dean doesn’t know. Angels, demons, and other creatures have nothing but contempt for the beings of this world. 

There may have been a time when a few good angels tried to protect mankind. Their deeds are the source of the various religious myths and legends. Hunters know better. There is no Heaven. There is no Hell. There is no God. The creatures of the other realm only bleed into the world of man to feed and wreak havoc. Human energy sustains their powers. Demons are the worst about possessing a body and draining its life. Angels at least prefer to lure people into letting them in—demons just take. 

Dean looks at the half-breed on the floor. He didn’t think it was possible for the monsters to breed with humans. He’s not sure, but this has all the signs of a new problem in the world of hunting. He plants his feet and crosses his arms over his chest. 

After an extended silence, the angel raises its head and examines Dean. Its eyes are crystal blue and electric, but they are the only feature of its body that shows any sign of stamina. It’s dying. 

It makes a sound like it’s clearing its throat and, much to Dean’s surprise it speaks. “Castiel.” Its voice is hoarse with a gravel undertone—strained from disuse. 

Dean unfolds his arms and moves in closer. “What?” He’s not sure if he’s hearing English or Enochian. 

“My name,” it answers. “My name is Castiel.” 

“Ok,” says Dean. 

The angel looks back at the floor. “I am ready,” it says. 

“For what?” 

“The execution,” it answers. 

“I’m not here to kill you,” says Dean. “My brother is outside. He’s a doctor. He wants to treat you. I’m here to tell you to let him help.” 

The angel’s head seems to sink lower. "I prefer death."

“It’s your own fault they sent me,” says Dean. “You should have talked to the other guys. They’re the ones who’re trying to save you.” 

“But you are their warrior,” says the angel. It’s talking to the floor now. 

“No, I’m just the most willing to kill you,” corrects Dean. 

“Will is what separates warriors from those they defend,” says the angel. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Look,” he says, point to the door, “those two idiots aren’t going to leave me alone until I talk you into letting them help."

"I do not want help."

"I know, you want to be free or die. I get that."

The angel lifts its head but does not make eye contact. "I'd prefer to die, if I am allowed to chose."

Dean sighs. "For fuck's sake," he mutters. "Ok, I’m willing to make a deal.” 

The angel looks up and Dean doesn’t miss the way its wings shift. He has its full attention. 

“If,” begins Dean, “you let them clean you up, get you fed, and if you give yourself some time to heal—if after all that, you still want to die, I’ll gladly be the one to do it.” 

The angel frowns, head tilting to the side. “What does that mean in terms of a timeframe?” 

“Two weeks,” answers Dean. “You’ve made it this long, two more weeks won’t kill you and if it does,” he shrugs, “problem solved.” 

“I must spend two weeks under the care of the doctor and his companion and then, if I still wish to die and am unable to do the task on my own, I may call upon you and you will assist. Is that correct?” The angel is frowning, but it doesn’t seem unhappy with the deal. 

“Yeah,” answers Dean. 

“What do you gain from this?” 

“I get to kill you without pissing off the doctor,” answers Dean. 

“You had the opportunity to kill me earlier,” says the angel. “I attacked. You were defending yourself. Surely your doctor would have understood.” 

“Yeah, well I fucked up,” snaps Dean. “I should have pulled the trigger, but I didn’t. I can’t change that so we’re both stuck with plan B.” 

The angel gives Dean a slow, contemplative nod. “Two weeks,” it mutters. 

“Deal?” asks Dean.

“I’m not sure I have much choice in the matter,” answers the angel. “But yes, we seem to have reached an agreement.” 

“So you’re not going to throw a fit when the doctor comes in?” 

The angel scowls. “I will obey your orders for two weeks,” it says. “If you do not want me to resist, I will not resist.” 

“Close enough,” says Dean. He takes a few steps back and bangs on the door to signal Sam. Both he and Bobby enter the room. They’re each carrying a med kit. 

Sam looks directly at the angel. “May we approach?” he asks. 

The angel nods. 

“Use your words, half-breed,” says Dean. Sam shoots him a nasty look. Dean holds up his hands. “Sorry. Use your words, _Castiel._ ” 

Sam is stunned. “You got his name?” He turns to the angel. “Castiel? That’s your name?”

“Yes,” answers the angel. 

“You can talk?” 

“Yes,” answers the angel.

Sam sets down his kit. “My name is Sam Winchester. This is Bobby Singer. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“The human in the corner said you are a doctor,” says the angel. 

Sam shoots Dean another look. “You didn’t introduce yourself?” he asks.

“Sorry, forgot,” he answers. He leans around Sam but doesn’t step closer. “I’m Dean.” 

“Dean Winchester,” finishes Sam. “He’s my older brother. Bobby is our friend.” 

“Do I belong to all of you now?” asks the angel, “or just the one who knows Enochian?” 

All of the color drains from Sam’s face and even Bobby looks taken aback. “You don't belong to anyone,” says Sam. “We’re going to fix you and let you go home.” 

The angel’s lips tighten and it bobs its head. “You can fix me. I will not resist.”

“Thank you,” says Sam. He starts pulling stuff out of his kit and Dean can tell it’s killing him not to ask too many questions. Bobby breaks first. 

“So you’re half angel, half human?” he asks. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. 

“How—er—what—I didn’t think that was possible,” Sam says, when he finally finds the words. 

Castiel just looks at him. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Clearly it’s possible,” says Dean. He turns his attention to the creature. “Sam wants details. He wants to know how you work. He’s a big nerd like that.” 

Castiel seems to understand that. “Giving birth to me killed my mother. I suppose our respective species are not meant to breed. Perhaps, once my two weeks here are over, you could dissect me and inspect my body for your studies.” 

Dean shakes his head, motioning for Castiel to stop talking, but the damage is done. Sam and Bobby don’t miss a beat. 

“What’s he talking about?” asks Bobby. They’re all looking at Dean and Dean doesn’t know how he can put this delicately. 

Castiel tilts his head, squints at Dean, then speaks. “If I do not survive treatment, of course.”

“Why’d you say two weeks?” asks Sam. 

“Your brother said that was my estimated recovery time,” answers Castiel.

Thank the fucking lord the half-breed came up with a cover story. Sam would never approve of their deal. 

“That’s a good estimate,” says Sam. “You should heal pretty quickly. I guarantee you’ll survive. You have my word.” He and Bobby are back to focusing on the angel. “But don’t get discouraged if it takes longer before you’re totally back to normal.”

“I will not get discouraged,” says Castiel. 

Sam points to the open shower area. “I’d like to get the blood off of you, then I can get a better look at your injuries.” 

“All right.” 

“Do you need help?” asks Sam. 

Dean answers. “Yeah. It can’t stand by itself.”

“I can manage,” says Castiel. 

“ _Managing_ to do something and _successfully_ doing something are two different things,” says Dean. 

Castiel looks to the ground. “I will not resist your help.” 

Sam glares at Dean, but Dean’s not sure what he did wrong. He can tell he fucked something up though, because the angel isn’t making eye contact anymore. 

Dean settles on distracting Sam. He steps up to whisper to him. “Angels aren’t big on having humans touch their wings.” 

“But I have to touch them,” whispers Sam. 

“I know, just thought you should have a heads up. It’s kind of a personal thing.” 

Sam nods and turns to Castiel. “I’m going to have to inspect your wings and bind the one that is broken,” he says. “I will be gentle. You can tell me to stop at any time.” 

“I understand,” says Castiel.

Bobby and Sam approach with caution. Sam stays true to his word and inspects the wings carefully and quickly. Then three men help the angel bathe. At first, Dean doesn’t volunteer to help, but Bobby and Sam can’t support it and its wings at the same time. Dean ends up soggy with soap and feathers clinging to him. 

He doesn’t help with the medical crap. Sam has it down to an art and Bobby makes a damn good nurse. The whole thing takes about two hours. When they’re done, Dean’s surprised by the improvement. Castiel seems surprised as well. Its broken wing is bound and set and it tests its mobility within the bandages. Satisfied, it flexes the other wing. The movement seems to reassure it. 

“Better?” asks Sam. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “Thank you.” 

“Good.” Sam shoots a sideways glance to Bobby before continuing. “I know you’re not comfortable around humans,” he says. “We can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, but we’d like for you to feel comfortable here.” He licks his lips nervously. “I’m sure you don’t want to stay in the recovery room, but we don’t want you to escape again.” 

Castiel looks to Dean, then back to Sam. “I will not attempt to escape,” it says. 

Bobby apparently decides it’s time to chime in. “We’ve made up a room for you upstairs,” he says. 

“We’ve also got cabins,” says Sam. “Bobby and I like the house, but Dean likes the cabins. You’re welcome to stay with him.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, “by all means, crash with me.” He’s not trying to be an asshole, but how much does Sam think he can change in a day? He’s not going to hurt this angel because Sam asked him not to, but it’s still a monster and he’s still a hunter. 

Castiel cocks his head to the side and looks to Dean. “This is my choice?” it asks. 

“Of course,” says Sam. Castiel is still looking to Dean, which means Bobby and Sam look to Dean as well. Castiel is waiting for an answer. Bobby and Sam are daring him to fuck this up. 

“Of course,” echoes Dean. “Stay where ever you’re comfortable.” 

Castiel is skeptical. It frowns and its good wing arches up slightly. Dean’s seen that look before. It’s preparing to defend itself. “I would like to stay in the house.” 

“Great,” says Sam. “I’ll show you your room. Are you hungry, or do you want to rest? There are actually several rooms that are free. I guess it depends on what view you like the most.” 

While Sam babbles the angel keeps its focus on Dean. It has relaxed its good wing, but its still frowning. Maybe it’s still pissed about being alive, or maybe it’s confused. Either way, it’s not saying anything to Sam about it. Dean sighs. He realizes he’s become the unofficial middleman. 

“Guys,” says Dean, “can we have a second?” 

Bobby scowls. “You want us to leave you two alone?” 

“Yes,” answers Dean. “Please.” 

“Don’t hurt him,” warns Sam. 

“I won’t,” says Dean. “I just want to talk.” 

Sam turns to the angel. “If he hurts you, scream, ok?” 

The angel nods. 

Bobby claps Dean on the shoulder as he leaves and whispers to him. “Good luck, boy.” Dean starts to ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but Bobby’s already gone. Sam backs out of the room slowly and reluctantly pulls the door closed. 

Dean steps closer to the angel. Its good wing droops—submissive. Dean stops. “Why were you staring at me?” asks Dean. 

The angel’s eyes dart to the ground and it hangs its head. 

“Dude,” Dean tries again. “You looked like you wanted to say something. What’s going on?” 

“You are a hunter,” it says. 

No shit. 

“Yeah,” answers Dean.

“I do not understand this place.” It’s still looking at the floor. 

Dean suddenly feels like he’s in over his head. Is this thing upset? Does it need a hug? Fuck. Sammy should be in here, not Dean. 

“You must be my new master,” it says, voice lower. “Unless you have been tasked with returning me to my old master.” 

“I’m not your master,” says Dean. He finds himself moving closer to the angel and stops himself. “And I’m not returning you. Bobby and Sam would skin me alive if I took you back.” 

The angel looks up, it’s scowling now. It’s watching Dean with those piercing blue eyes and for the first time, Dean lets himself really look at the creature before him. Castiel is clearly malnourished. His ribs jut out beneath his skin and his shoulders are too angular. The borrowed pants he’s wearing from Sam are barely hanging around his hips. His skin is covered in scars and the way he holds himself is proud, rebellious, but cracked. Dean realizes he’s not looking at a creature inhabiting a human. He’s looking at the actual creature.

Everything about this rubs Dean the wrong way. He should have killed it when he had the chance. He should kill it now. He shouldn’t be wondering what the creature is thinking and feeling. Castiel is a monster—a thing—nothing more. But this thing is Sam’s project and Dean has to behave. 

“Look,” Dean begins, “I’m not the best one to talk to about this—whatever is happening right now—Sam and Bobby are they guys you want.” 

“They would conceal the truth so as not to frighten me,” says Castiel. “They care. You do not. You will tell me the truth.” 

“I can’t argue with that,” says Dean. He’s stunned. That’s a sound assessment. “What truth are you looking for?” 

“What is my status here?” 

“You’re Sam’s patient,” answers Dean. 

“I am not owned?” 

“No,” answers Dean. “You’re free, I guess.” 

The angel snorts. “I am not free. If I were free, I would be able to leave. If I were free, your brother and his friend would not have brought me back here after I escaped. If I were free, I would be allowed to die on my own terms.”

Shit. Dean wishes Jess was here. This is way above his pay-grade. Dean shrugs. “I guess you’re not _completely_ free.” 

“Then I am a prisoner.” 

“You’re not a prisoner,” says Dean. 

“And yet, I'm trapped here.” 

“Dude, we covered this already. Two weeks. That’s it.” 

“Then you will kill me.” 

“ _If_ you still want to die, then yes; I’ll kill you.” 

“If I want to live?” 

“Then Sam and Bobby will probably let you go.” 

“Where I will be killed or captured by my master, you or someone like you.”

“What do you want me to say?” snaps Dean. “You don’t want to stay here, you don’t want to go back, you’re not sure if you want to die; what the hell are you looking for?”

The angel hangs its head again. Its good wing curls slightly around its shoulder. Dean doesn’t know what that means. He backs away. When he feels the door behind him, he knocks. Sam opens it immediately.

“We’re done,” says Dean. “He’s all yours. I’m going to sleep.” He leaves before Sam can question him and he knows that’s the wrong move to make. He nudges Bobby on the way out. “That thing needs help,” he mutters. Again, the wrong move. He hurries out of the house, across the lawn and down to his cabin. When he arrives, he locks the door behind him, then collapses on his bed. He’s done with this day.


	5. The Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Castiel pov 9/9/16

He beats his wings against the wind. His grace is gone again. The pain is coming back. His wings stutter and the muscles in his back seize. He can’t fall. Not yet. He’s not far enough away. One wing spasms and knocks him off balance. He recovers, but just barely. If he cannot fly, he needs to hide. He pushes himself until he spots a break in the trees. A dirt road leads to a small shelter. It smells of humans, but he doesn’t hear anyone. He aims for the road. He falls. 

Castiel hits the ground hard, missing his mark and crashing through the trees. Something cracks. He gasps at the new pain flooding him. He teeters on the edge of a blackout. He clutches his chest and his hand comes away wet with blood. He half walks half crawls to the shelter. One wing drags pathetically behind him. He makes it inside. It’s dusty from disuse. Maybe he can hide here for a while. 

Castiel tries to retract the wing now radiating pain. It doesn’t respond and the muscles burn when he tries to move them. It’s broken. His wings have been broken before. Everything has been broken before. It will take a long time to heal. He will be grounded for weeks, months perhaps. No one will bring him food or water. He’s on his own. He’s going to die here. 

 _I shouldn’t have let them take me away. Ungrateful._  

Castiel rakes his hands through his hair and screams. He can’t go back. He can’t _want_ to go back. He’s sick. His stomach lurches. He grabs a dusty piece of furniture and hurls it across the room. His rage is a welcome distraction from the pain. He pants at his new source of energy. 

 _Inhale, one, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two, three._  

A distant noise distracts him. Humans. He limps to the window. A large machine is approaching. It stops where Castiel landed. Two humans emerge. They are the same people who claimed to help him. How did they already find him? 

The large human points to the dirt. The bearded human nods and they begin walking up to the shelter. They’re following a trail of blood and drag marks from Castiel’s wing. 

He huffs. He was stupid. He should have known he would be followed. 

“Angel?’ calls the large human. “Are you in there? We’re here to help.” 

Castiel searches the small area for a place to hide. 

 _Breathe._  

He presses himself against the wall behind the door. He will at least be able to surprise them. 

“I hope he’s ok. That’s a lot of blood,” says the large human. 

“We’ll know in a minute.” They open the door. 

Castiel waits until they are both inside, then slams the door shut. He’s got just enough energy to direct his grace at the bearded human. 

The large human is armed with a weapon. He shoots at Castiel. Something hits him in the shoulder. The bearded human collapses when Castiel hits him again. 

The large human fires again, then runs forward. He jumps over his companion and tries to grab Castiel, but Castiel throws him back. Blackness creeps into the edge of his vision. 

The large human has a device pressed to his ear. He shouts a string of numbers into it. Castiel uses his last bit of strength to hurl the large human across the room. He staggers outside. He stumbles and collapses into the dirt. 

xxx

 Pain. 

“Be careful.” 

Pain. 

“Broken wing.” 

“Shit.” 

Pain. A flash of light. Rumbling. Pain. 

When Castiel comes around he’s back in the bed, back in the strange little room with artificial light. He tries to move, but he is restrained. 

“I’m sorry, we didn’t want you to hurt yourself. You were moving around in your sleep—and kind of throwing things.” The large human is leaning over him. “You’re safe, but you are hurt pretty bad. Your wing is broken. Do you understand?”

Yes, he understands. He understands he’s trapped here. 

The bearded human appears and leans over him. 

“I don’t think you should get near him right now.” 

“I’m just checking his—” 

Castiel jerks as far forward as he can manage and sinks his teeth into the bearded man’s hand. 

“Son of a bitch,” he exclaims. 

“I warned you,” says the large human. “We should give him some space. He’s still riding an adrenalin rush. We’ll come back in a few minutes.” 

They leave. Castiel can hear them talking on the other side of the door. He clenches his jaw and tugs. The metal around his wrists digs into his skin, but after a few more tries, the restraints break. Castiel sits up. His broken wing screams in protest. It’s tucked against his back. He tries not to move it. 

He stands, panting. This will not be his new prison. He will not be trained by new hunters. He yanks the needle from his arm and hurls the entire contraption across the room—needle, tube, bag, long metal pole. They slam against the door. He hears humans outside. 

“God dammit, Dean. I told you to wait.” 

“I did wait,” says a new voice. 

“It hasn’t been an hour. How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough to know you two need help.” 

“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. We could use your help on this one.” 

What is the purpose of the new human? What will he do? Castiel could not hold off two humans. He will be helpless against three. He needs to get out. He cannot escape through the door. The humans are guarding it. He looks up. Maybe there is a way out through the roof. The walls are not smooth like his old cage. He can’t fly, but maybe he can climb. 

The humans are still talking as he clambers onto the bed and searches for a foothold. He can’t get a grip. The voices quiet on the other side. Maybe the door is clear. Castiel stumbles from the bed, crosses the room and presses his ear to the door. Two humans remain. They’re speaking in hushed voices. 

“Dean will be all right.” 

“How? He hasn’t even mentioned Dad in weeks. Has he talked to you?” 

“One step at a time, Sam. He’s with us now and we can take care of him. That’s what’s important.” 

“I guess. At least he came back.” 

“That’s a big step for him.” 

“I hate that it took Dad dying to get him here.” 

“I’m just happy John didn’t take Dean down with him.” 

“Shit, he’s coming back.” 

“All right,” says the stranger. “I’m ready.” 

“Jesus, Dean, are you wearing Kevlar?”

  
“Yeah. This is how you face an angel—er—half-breed—whatever it is.” 

“Don’t hurt him.” 

“I won’t. Cross my heart. Now move.” 

Castiel pulls back from the door. They know. They know what he is and the stranger is coming in to see him. Panicked, he rushes back to the bed and takes a submissive position. The stranger is coming in alone. Perhaps Castiel can kill them one at a time. 

The stranger enters. The door shuts behind him. He looks around the room, seemingly disgusted by what he sees. 

Castiel pulls his good wing closer. 

The stranger’s eyes lock on Castiel. He huffs, then moves closer. 

“Those two knuckleheads outside think you can’t talk,” says the stranger. He pulls several items from his pocket. He writes something. “I know better,” he says. “I’ve heard your kind speak before.” 

This one is definitely a hunter. The way he sneers at Castiel. The way he holds himself. The weapons attached to his body. He is a warrior. The others sent him in to do what they could not. 

“What do you call yourself?” he asks. 

Castiel glares. He will never give his name to a hunter again. 

The hunter approaches the bed and lays a piece of paper in front of Castiel. “You don’t have to answer. A little bird tells me you’re part human, part angel, so for now, you can just be Half-Breed.” 

The hunter eyes Castiel’s restraints, then takes a step back. Castiel lunges. He tackles the hunter and brings him down, fighting with everything he has left. The hunter scrambles free, a fist connects with Castiel’s cheek. He falls, landing on his broken wing. He gasps. He’s not enough, never enough. He can’t fight. It’s over. Any hope he had of escape is gone with the remainder of his strength. 

 _Stupid monster._  

Maybe the hunter will kill him. Maybe he will show mercy. Castiel manages to push himself up to his knees. He bows his head, waiting. 

The hunter circles, perhaps waiting to see what Castiel will do. 

 _Breathe._  

Castiel looks up and meets the hunter’s gaze. His wings are ruined. His body is broken. He doesn’t know what possessed him to try. He can’t even die on his own terms. His life is not his own. He wants to beg for death. He wants to beg. 

_Beg._

His throat is too dry. He’s come this far and all he wants in the world is to beg for death. He hopes the hunter understands. 

The hunter has his weapon raised. A gun? Castiel can’t remember the name for it. The hunter’s stern glare begins to fade. He stares at Castiel and licks his lips, weapon trembling. 

He lowers his weapon and backs away. He retrieves another weapon Castiel doesn’t remember him losing, and leaves. 

Castiel slumps to the floor, arms over his head. He cries. 

At some point, the other humans return. At some point he is laid on the bed. At some point, a human tries to touch his broken wing and he flinches. At some point the humans leave. 

Castiel teeters on that familiar ledge separating death from recovery. Moments pass and he feels his strength returning. Humans never let him die. How many times has a human forced him to stay alive? Moments later the pain is too much, his memories too heavy and he waits. 

 _Maybe this time._  

At some point he finds the note the hunter left. His breath catches in his chest when he realizes it’s written in Enochian. His language. His father’s language. It simply asks “what is your name?”

Castiel finds a writing tool someone must have left for him. He scratches out a reply. “If you will not kill me, then let me go.” 

At some point he crosses the room and manages to slide the note under the door. At some point he makes it back to the center of the room to wait. At some point the door opens again. 

Castiel can smell the hunter. He enters alone. He stands in front of Castiel, feet firmly planted. 

Castiel looks up. Sometimes hunters like to look into the eyes of their kill. 

The hunter’s arms are crossed. He’s waiting. 

 _He’s only asked for one thing. Just give it to him and this will be over._  

He coughs, winces, then gives the only thing he has left. “Castiel,” he says. 

The hunter unfolds his arms and moves in closer. “What?” 

“My name,” he rasps. “My name is Castiel.” 

“Ok,” says the hunter. 

Castiel lowers his head. “I am ready,” he says. 

“For what?” 

 _Beg._  

“The execution,” he answers. 

“I’m not here to kill you,” says the hunter. “My brother is outside. He’s a doctor. He wants to treat you. I’m here to tell you to let him help.” 

If the hunter won’t kill him, the healer certainly won’t do it. Humans want him alive. 

“It’s your own fault they sent me,” says the hunter. “You should have talked to the other guys. They’re the ones who’re trying to save you.” 

“But you are their warrior,” says Castiel. If he’s not here to kill, then he must be here to hurt. 

“No, I’m just the most willing to kill you,” says the hunter. 

 _Will is what separates warriors from those they defend_. 

His father’s words. Castiel was meant to be a warrior once, many years ago. 

“Look,” says the hunter, “those two idiots aren’t going to leave me alone until I talk you into letting them help. However, I’m willing to make a deal.” 

Castiel looks up. 

_Yes. Please. Anything._

“If,” the hunter emphasizes the word, “you let them clean you up, get you fed, and you give yourself some time to heal—if after all that, you still want to die, I’ll gladly be the one to do it.” 

“What does that mean in terms of a timeframe?” How long does he have to wait? 

“Two weeks,” answers the hunter. “You’ve made it this long, two more weeks won’t kill you and if it does, problem solved.” 

Castiel is in no position to negotiate. “I must spend two weeks under the care of the doctor and his companion and if I still wish to die and am unable to do the task on my own, I may call upon you and you will assist. Is that correct?” 

“Yeah,” answers the hunter. 

“What do you gain from this?” asks Castiel. 

“I get to kill you without pissing off the doctor,” answers the hunter. 

“You had the opportunity to kill me earlier,” says Castiel. He already gave the hunter a reason to kill. “I attacked. You were defending yourself. Surely your doctor would have understood.” 

“Yeah, well I fucked up,” says the hunter. “I should have pulled the trigger, but I didn’t. I can’t change that so we’re both stuck with plan B.” 

“Two weeks,” mutters Castiel. 

“Deal?” asks the hunter. 

“I’m not sure I have much choice in the matter,” says Castiel. “But yes, we seem to have reached an agreement.” 

“So you’re not going to throw a fit when the doctor comes in?” 

“I will obey your orders for two weeks. If you do not want me to resist, I will not resist.” 

“Close enough.” The hunter steps back and bangs on the door. 

The other humans enter. 

“May we approach?” asks the large human. 

Castiel nods. 

“Use your words, half-breed,” says the hunter. 

The large human glares at the hunter. 

“Sorry,” mutters the hunter. “Use your words, Castiel.” 

The large human—the doctor—gasps. “You got his name?” He turns back. “Castiel? That’s your name?” 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. 

“You can talk?” asks the doctor. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel.

The doctor sets down the box he was carrying. “My name is Sam Winchester. This is Bobby Singer. It’s nice to meet you.” 

He’s vaguely aware that the humans have tried to introduce themselves before. “The human in the corner said you are a doctor,” says Castiel. 

The doctor—Doctor Winchester—glares at the hunter again. “You didn’t introduce yourself?” 

The hunter shrugs. “Sorry, forgot. I’m Dean.” 

“Dean Winchester. He’s my older brother. Bobby is our friend.” 

Castiel nods. “Do I belong to all of you now, or just the one who knows Enochian?”

Doctor Winchester pales. “We don’t want to own you,” he says. “We’re going to fix you and let you go home.” 

Home. What do they think is his home? 

_Two weeks._

“You can fix me,” says Castiel. “I will not resist.” 

“Thank you,” says Doctor Winchester. He begins sifting though various items presumably meant to heal. 

“So,” says Mr. Singer, “you’re half angel, half human?’ 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. 

“How—er—what—I didn’t think that was possible,” says Doctor Winchester. 

It is obviously possible otherwise Castiel would not exist. 

“Clearly it’s possible,” says the hunter. He—Dean—raises his eyebrows at Castiel. “Sam wants details. He wants to know how you work. He’s a big nerd like that.”

So the doctor understands Castiel’s existence is possible, but he wants to know how. Castiel sighs. He’s not sure where to begin. “Giving birth to me killed my mother,” he says. “I suppose our respective species are not meant to breed. Perhaps, once my two weeks here are over, you could dissect me and inspect my body for your studies.” 

The hunter shakes his head quickly. 

Mr. Singer and Doctor Winchester turn to Dean at the same time. 

“What’s he talking about?” asks Mr. Singer. 

Their deal is a secret. Of course. The doctor wants Castiel alive. 

“If I do not survive the treatment, of course,” says Castiel. 

“Why’d you say two weeks?” asks the doctor.

“Your brother said that was my estimated recovery time.”

Doctor Winchester seems satisfied with the lie. “That’s a good estimate,” he says. “You should heal pretty quickly. I guarantee you’ll survive. You have my word.” 

Castiel notes the way his brow knits as he speaks. The doctor does not fully believe what he is saying. 

“But don’t get discouraged if it takes longer before you’re totally back to normal,” says Doctor Winchester. 

“I will not get discouraged,” says Castiel. He has no frame of reference for normal. 

The doctor points across the room. “I’d like to get the blood off of you, then I can get a better look at your injuries.” 

“All right.” 

“Do you need help?” 

“Yeah,” answers the hunter. “It can’t stand by itself.” 

“I can manage,” says Castiel. 

“ _Managing_ to do something and _successfully_ doing something are two different things,” says the hunter. His eyes narrow. It’s an order. 

Castiel bows his head. “I will not resist your help.” 

_Two weeks. Obey. Behave. Be free._

The hunter moves to his brother and whispers. “Angels aren’t big on having humans touch their wings.” 

Of course they will touch his wings. Castiel will give them everything, just as he gave his first owner. 

“But I have to touch them,” whispers the doctor. 

“I know,” hisses the hunter. “Just thought you should have a heads up. It’s kind of a personal thing.” 

Doctor Winchester resumes normal speaking volume and addresses Castiel. “I’m going to have to inspect your wings and bind the one that is broken,” he says. “I will be gentle. You can tell me to stop at any time.” 

 _Stop._  

“I understand,” says Castiel. 

He closes his eyes and counts his breaths as the men approach. The doctor is quick and careful as he sifts through Castiel’s feathers. He and Mr. Singer help Castiel to an area of the room where water pours from a long tube suspended overhead. 

_Stop._

He feels himself sway as they begin to wash his body. The water is warm. The soft touches remain soft. After a while, he stops flinching. He teeters forward. 

“Shit, Sammy it’s falling.” 

“Quit standing around like a jackass and help,” snaps Mr. Singer. 

The hunter mutters to himself as he joins them under the water. “Put your arms here,” he says. He pulls Castiel’s hands to rest on his shoulders. “Use me to brace yourself.” 

 _Stop._  

Castiel nods, but instead of resting his hands against the hunter, he ends up gripping his shirt as he struggles to stand. Once Doctor Winchester begins cleaning his back, the hunter lets Castiel fall against him, supporting most of his weight. 

He’d forgotten what it felt like to be clean. The men help him dry off and allow him a moment of privacy to change into new pants. When they return, the doctor and his companion tend to Castiel’s wounds while the hunter watches. 

Binding his broken wing is painful, but he refuses sedatives. He’s just beginning to feel fully conscious again. The men seem to work as quickly and carefully as they are able. When they step back, Castiel rolls his shoulders. His broken wing is restrained, but it is not uncomfortable. The doctor was careful when he positioned it. His good wing is free. Castiel flexes it; somewhat surprised he’s allowed to have it unbound. 

“Better?” asks Doctor Winchester. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “Thank you.” 

“Good.” A pause. “I know you’re not comfortable around humans,” says the doctor. “We can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, but we’d like for you to feel comfortable here.” He licks his lips. “I’m sure you don’t want to stay in the recovery room, but we don’t want you to escape again.” 

Castiel glances at the hunter. He’s still just watching. “I will not attempt to escape,” says Castiel. 

“We’ve made up a room for you upstairs,” says Mr. Singer. 

“We’ve also got cabins,” says Doctor Winchester. “Bobby and I like the house, but Dean likes the cabins. You’re welcome to stay with him.” 

 _Please, no._  

“Yeah,” mutters the hunter, “by all means, crash with me.” He seems insincere, as though his thoughts are contrary to his choice of words. 

Castiel tilts his head to the side. “This is my choice?” he asks. 

“Of course,” says the doctor. 

The hunter does not respond until he realizes the other men are watching him. 

“Of course,” echoes the hunter. “Stay where ever you’re comfortable.” 

That’s interesting. The hunter commands Castiel, but the others command the hunter, yet seem to want Castiel to think he’s free. Castiel’s good wing twitches. He knows where he would prefer to stay. He can’t tell if he actually has a choice in the matter. “I would like to stay in the house,” he says. 

“Great,” says Doctor Winchester. “I’ll show you your room. Are you hungry, or do you want to rest?” He continues talking. 

Castiel focuses on the hunter. He has not confirmed if Castiel is allowed to stay in the house yet. He waits. Finally, the hunter speaks. 

“Guys,” he says, “can we have a second?” 

Mr. Singer scowls. “You want us to leave you two alone?” 

“Yes,” answers the hunter. “Please.” 

“Don’t hurt him,” warns the doctor. 

“I won’t,” says the hunter. “I just want to talk.” 

This is it. This is where the hunter will tell him how to behave. Obviously he was just waiting for a moment away from the other men. Castiel will end up at the cabin where the doctor and his companion cannot see him—cannot help him. 

“If he hurts you,” says the doctor, “scream, ok?” 

Castiel nods. Hunters know how to hurt without leaving evidence, and if this hunter tells him to be silent, Castiel will obey. 

 _Stop._  

The other men leave. 

“Why were you staring at me?” asks the hunter. 

He’s already angry with Castiel.

“Dude,” says the hunter. “You looked like you wanted to say something. What’s going on?”

 _I was waiting for your command._  

“You are a hunter,” says Castiel. 

 _You are my owner._  

“Yeah,” answers the hunter. He still does not offer a command. He’s just waiting for Castiel to explain. 

Castiel is suddenly very tired. He doesn’t remember bowing his head. “I do not understand this place.” 

The hunter offers no explanation, but he also does not punish. 

“You are my new master,” mutters Castiel. The hunter needs to know that Castiel understands. “Unless you have been tasked with returning me to my old master.” 

“I’m not your master,” says the hunter. He steps closer, but stops abruptly. “And I’m not returning you. Bobby and Sam would skin me alive if I took you back.” 

Castiel looks up. Being skinned alive seems a bizarrely cruel torture for a doctor to inflict, especially on a family member. Then again, if anyone could inflict that kind of damage while managing to keep the offending person alive, it would be a doctor. 

“Look,” says the hunter, “I’m not the best one to talk to about this—whatever is happening right now—Sam and Bobby are they guys you want.” 

“They would conceal the truth so as not to frighten me,” says Castiel. The doctor already lied when he guaranteed Castiel would heal. Castiel knows his body is broken. He knows recovery is far from guaranteed. “They care. You do not. You will tell me the truth.” 

“I can’t argue with that,” says the hunter. “What truth are you looking for?” 

“What is my status here?” 

“You’re Sam’s patient.” 

“I am not owned?” 

“No. You’re free, I guess.” 

Castiel stops just short of a laugh. “I am not free. If I were free, I would be able to leave. If I were free, your brother and his friend would not have brought me back here after I escaped. If I were free, I would be allowed to die on my own terms.”

 _Obey. Behave._  

It’s too late now. The momentary swell of outrage will cost him. 

The hunter shrugs. “I guess you’re not _completely_ free.” 

“Then I am a prisoner.” 

“You’re not a prisoner.” 

Castiel is pushing his luck. He knows better. Sometimes he is torn between the coward he knows he is and the warrior he was meant to become. “Then let me go,” he says. Sometimes he likes to pretend he’s brave. 

“Dude, we covered this already. Two weeks. That’s it.” 

“Then you will kill me.” 

“ _If_ you still want to die, then yes; I’ll kill you.” 

“If I want to live?” 

“Then Sam and Bobby will probably let you go.” 

So it’s true. The other men are really in control. They decide his fate.

“Where I will be killed or captured by my master, you, or someone like you.”

“What do you want me to say?” snaps the hunter. “You don’t want to stay here, you don’t want to go back, you’re not sure if you want to die; what the hell are you looking for?” 

Castiel ducks his head, presenting his back and shoulders. He can’t help that his wings curl in, braced for pain. 

Pain never comes. The hunter just backs away and leaves without another word.


	6. Sleeping, Talking, Eating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas pov added 9/9/16

Doctor Winchester and Mr. Singer show Castiel to his room. The floor is soft. The walls are white. The curtains are yellow. There is a window beside the bed and a closet in the corner. Castiel stands in the doorway. 

“You can get comfortable,” says Doctor Winchester. “I’ll fix you something to eat. Do you think you can stomach something solid? How are you feeling?” 

Castiel tilts his head. “What do I do in this room?” 

“Whatever you want. It’s yours—your space.” 

“So I just stay here?” 

“No,” interjects Mr. Singer. “You can if that’s what you want, but you can also wander around the property. Hang out with us. You’re not just stuck to the room.” 

Castiel scowls at the room. He begins to step inside, but changes his mind. 

“What’s wrong?” asks the doctor. 

“I am unclean,” mutters Castiel. 

The two humans exchange a glance.

“Do you want to take another shower?” asks Mr. Singer. 

Castiel shakes his head. He can’t stay awake through another shower; besides, soap and water cannot wash away his filth. “I will sully your belongings.” 

Mr. Singer laughs. “Son, I promise you, there’s not a damn thing in that room you could mess up that I would give two shits about. And you’re not ‘unclean.’ I guarantee your you’re the cleanest one in the house right now.” 

 _Filthy monster._  

“You also have a private bathroom,” says the doctor, pointing across the hall. “There isn’t anything to mess up in there either.” 

Castiel ignores the way the room makes his skin itch. The humans clearly want him to go accept their offer. 

He steps inside, wings tucked close. “Thank you, Doctor Winchester, Mr. Singer.” 

Mr. Singer shakes his head. “It’s nothing. And please,” he gestures between the two men, “Sam and Bobby. No need for formalities.” 

“Thank you, Sam and Bobby,” corrects Castiel. 

Sam points to a box sitting on the table. He hits something on it and a green light comes on. “This is a bab—uh—a monitor. I’ve got the other one downstairs. If you need something, just talk and we can hear you.” 

Castiel tilts his head at the device. They will be listening. 

Mr. Sin—Bobby—tugs on Sam’s arm. “You get some rest. We’ll be back to check on you.” 

“I’ll get you something to eat,” says Sam. 

They leave. Castiel stands in the center of the room alone. The doctor pulls the door to, but it’s open enough to remind Castiel he’s not confined to this space. 

After a few minutes, Sam returns with a plate of food and a glass of water. He leaves quickly after a reminder about the monitor. 

Castiel intends to ration his food but after his first bite of something the doctor called “sandwich” he realizes how hungry he is. He eats the entire serving and drinks all of his water. Feeling a little stronger, he stares down at the plate, horrified. He has no idea what the feeding schedule is here. 

 _Greedy. Ungrateful._  

He stares at his plate and begins picking at an injury on his arm. He is clean enough to see all of his scars and wounds. He leaves the plate and begins to examine his body. He is covered in an array of reds, blues, and purples. He remembers most of the injuries. The new injuries are ones he brought on himself when he tried to leave. The stitches are new. He’s never had stitches before. His body is a timeline of cruelty and kindness. He sighs and returns to sit beside his plate.

At some point, the doctor returns with more food. Castiel did not have to ask. He flushes when the doctor sees how he’s staring at the empty dish. 

The doctor’s eyes scan his bare chest. Castiel knows his bones stick out. He knows they are not supposed to do that. He knows his skin discolored and marred. He knows his wings are patchy and his feathers are crumpled. He knows he is disgusting. He knows it must be difficult to look at his at him. 

The doctor almost winces. He serves Castiel more sandwich, more water and a handful of pills. “I forgot to bring your vitamins up earlier,” he says. “Take them with water. Eat some more, and call for me if you need anything.” 

Castiel bows his head. “Thank you,” he says to the floor. 

The doctor leaves. He doesn’t shut the door. 

Castiel eats, because he can’t help himself. He takes the pills, relieved when they don’t make him dizzy, then finally crawls into the bed. 

His stomach doesn’t hurt. His wings are healing. His body aches, but not from new injuries. The bed is too soft. He rolls around a bit, trying to adjust to the feeling of sinking into a mattress. He finally gets up and settles on the floor with his good wing stretched out and a blanket pulled up halfway over his body. When he breathes in, the floor smells fresh and clean. 

He stretches his wing and the feathers brush against the opposite wall. He inhales again and curls into himself. 

xxx

  _Castiel sits stuffed into the back of a vehicle. He’s naked. His hands are tied, his mouth is gagged, his wings are bound. Faceless men are near him. They’re not speaking, but Castiel can still hear them communicating._

 _They’re taking him back. They’re almost to the hunter. He belongs back in his cage._

_They stop and somehow Castiel is out of the machine. He’s on his knees on the ground. An angel is kneeling in front of him. His arms are tied behind his back. His wings are not visible._

_“Look away,” he says._

_The faceless men become one. One man with a large knife._

_The angel stares at Castiel. “Please, not in front of him. Don’t make him watch.”_

_The hunter pulls the angel’s hair. “Show me your wings.”_

_“I will, but you have to take me away. Don’t do this here.” The angel is bleeding and he cannot heal himself._

_“Wings first, then I’ll move you.”_

_“No.”_

_“Shame. I’d love to see them.” The hunter puts the knife to the angel’s throat._

_“Wait! I’ll do it,” shouts the angel. Two massive black wings manifest out of thin air. It must be a difficult task, because it leaves the angel breathless._

_“Great. Last word?”_

_“Not here, please!”_

_The hunter presses his knife into the angel’s neck._

_“Don’t look, Castiel,” shouts the angel. “Close your eyes.”_

_The knife digs into his skin. There is a faint glow. It flickers, then dies. There is so much blood. It stains everything. Everything is red._

_Castiel struggles to break free. The angel needs him. Suddenly, the hunter is on top of him. He can’t see the knife. He knows it’s there. He can feel it as is digs into his wings._

xxx

 A loud crash is what wakes Castiel. He sits up, sweating, breathing hard, to find the doctor crumpled on the floor beside him. He’s clutching his shoulder and wincing. His other arm hangs limp at his side. 

“Did I do that?” asks Castiel. 

“No,” answers the doctor. “I’m fine. I swear. Just fell on it weird.” 

He fell? Castiel hurt him. 

“Go back to sleep.” The doctor gives him a forced smile.

Footsteps sound in the stairway. Mr. Singer enters and flips on the light. “What the hell are you two doing on the ground?” He sees the doctor and rushes forward. “What happened?” 

“I hurt him,” says Castiel. He’s useless beside the doctor. 

“I’m fine, really,” says Dr. Winchester. “Just a little sprain.” 

“You dislocated your damn shoulder,” says Mr. Singer. 

“I dislocated his damn shoulder,” mutters Castiel. 

“How? Or, Why?” 

The doctor sighs. “He was having a nightmare. I heard him on the monitor and came up to check. I was trying to wake him up, but I forgot how strong angels are.” He offers another half smile. “Good news is you’re healing really fast.” 

Castiel hangs his head. He is not an angel and he is not strong. 

“Want me to pop it back in?” asks Mr. Singer. He nods to Doctor Winchester’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Castiel, you want to help?” 

Castiel blinks at him. 

“Take my hand.” The doctor releases his shoulder, and extends his arm to Castiel. 

Castiel accepts. “I cannot heal.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” says Sam. “Tell me about something you like.” 

Castiel frowns. “I cannot help.” 

Mr. Singer steps behind Doctor Winchester. 

“Trust me.” 

Castiel sighs. “I like the way this room smells.” 

“Why?” 

Mr. Singer positions his hands on the doctor’s shoulder. 

“It’s nice,” answers Castiel. “It smells sweet. I’m not su—” 

Mr. Singer yanks back on Doctor Winchester’s shoulder. 

The doctor grips Castiel’s hand harder. “God dammit,” he growls. 

Castiel freezes. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” says Mr. Singer. “Don’t be a baby.” 

The doctor takes a few steadying breaths then releases Castiel’s hand. “Thank you,” he says. 

Castiel stares between Mr. Singer and the doctor’s shoulder. 

“You distracted me,” says the doctor. 

“All right,” says Castiel, still staring. 

“Thanks for your help,” says the doctor. 

Mr. Singer says something else so Castiel nods. They tell him to go back to sleep. They bid him good night. As they leave, Castiel hears them whispering. 

“Let me handle nightmares,” says Mr. Singer. 

Castiel lays back down on the floor, but does not go back to sleep. 

In the early morning, he peeks out of his window to watch the sun rise. Orange light falls over the trees, the grass the row of cabins to the side of the front lawn. 

A cabin door opens. The hunter emerges, empty glass bottle in hand. He walks out of view, then returns moments later without the bottle. He stumbles as he climbs the steps back to his dwelling. He pauses and leans against a post. He waits a beat, sways, steadies himself, then retreats back into the cabin. 

He’s either drunk or injured. Castiel shakes his head and moves away from the window. It’s not his business 

Castiel falls asleep eventually, but it’s not long enough to dream. Noises in the house reach his room. He waits by the door. The doctor said he was allowed to leave, but after last night, the rules may be different. Castiel frowns at the door, then sits on the edge of the bed. 

Eventually, the doctor comes to him. He knocks before entering the room. 

“Oh, good, you’re up.” Docto—Sam—enters carrying a tray of food. “I brought you breakfast.” 

“Thank you,” says Castiel, he’s careful to keep his head lowered. He’s still allowed to eat. That’s a good sign. “I am sorry for my behavior last night.” 

“It’s ok,” says Sam. He sets the tray beside Castiel. “I should have known better than to startle an angel.” 

“I am not an angel,” mutters Castiel. 

“Oh,” says Sam, “what—um—what are you called?” 

 _Monster. Mongrel. Half-breed. Murderer. Mutt._

Castiel doesn’t answer. He looks down at his food. 

The doctor clears his throat. “This should help bring your energy up,” he says, pointing to the food. “You’ve got several options for drinks. That one is orange juice the other one is just water. I also brought up your meds. Eat first, then take them one at a time.” 

Castiel picks up the orange juice and takes a sip. 

“My wife is coming here today. She’s a psychologist. You might enjoy talking to her. Do you know what a psychologist is?” 

Castiel shakes his head. He doubts he will _enjoy_ talking to another doctor.

“It’s somebody who talks to you about your thoughts and emotions. She’s a mind doctor.”

Castiel has no idea what to make of these humans and their thoroughly unrelenting fascination with his health.

The doctor rubs the back of his neck. “So, Bobby and I were thinking if you’re bored up here and you don’t feel like looking around the house, you might want some entertainment.” 

Castiel decides he likes orange juice. It’s tangy and sweet. 

“Do you know how to use a computer?” 

“No,” answers Castiel. 

“Great.” The doctor grins. “I can teach you, if you want. Or Jess can teach you. That’s my wife’s name. Bobby isn’t great with them, but if you’d rather learn from him that’s fine too. Do you want to learn?” 

Castiel searches the doctor’s face, hoping he will indicate the correct answer. Doctor Winchester seems happy with the idea. “Yes,” answers Castiel. 

The doctor grins. “Awesome. You eat, take your pills, then let me know when you’re ready.” 

A computer, as Castiel discovers a few hours later, is a large heavy rectangular device with a “keyboard” and a “screen.” Castiel can create words with the keyboard and the screen will display pictures and information about the words. He is reluctantly fascinated with the machine. The doctor leaves it with him so he can continue to learn about it. 

Later that day someone knocks on his door again. He looks up in time to see the hunter enter the room. 

He sways a bit as he walks. His eyes are bloodshot and sunken. He smells of sweat and alcohol. 

Castiel stands and steps away from the computer. 

“You gotta talk to Sammy,” says the hunter. 

“About what?” asks Castiel. He studies the hunter’s movements, but he does not appear to be preparing for an attack. 

“I don’t know. Whatever the fuck he wants to talk about,” growls the hunter. “He says you’re quiet.” 

“My apolo—” 

“Don’t apologize, just talk more. If you talk, maybe he’ll leave me alone.” 

“What is he doing to you?” asks Castiel. Perhaps the doctor is capable of violence afterall. 

“Nothing,” snaps the hunter. “He’s just bothering me. If you talk to him, he won’t have to talk to me to ask me to tell you to talk to him or what the fuck ever.” 

Castiel tilts his head. “You are unwell.”

The hunter scrubs a hand over his face. “Just talk to Sam. Please. When he talks to you, try to talk back.” 

“All right.”

The hunter nods to himself. His eyes track the scars over Castiel’s torso. 

Castiel bows his head and holds his arms loosely over his chest. 

The hunter clears his throat, nods again, then leaves without another word.


	7. Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas pov added 9/10/16

Castiel does not like Doctor Jessica Winchester. She asks his past and how he’s feeling. Why doesn’t he sleep in the bed? Is he comfortable with her? Is he comfortable here? What does he need, want, dream, feel, miss? 

He does not like that after her visits, Doctor Sam Winchester comes in immediately afterwards to check on him. He does not like that Mr. Singer keeps saying she is trying to help. 

It’s early morning again. He’s had another sleepless night. He’s taken to sleeping in one-hour shifts. It’s all he can do to keep himself from dreaming. Jessica wants to know what his dreams are about. So does Sam. 

Castiel stands by his window. Dr. Sam Winchester has already been in to check on him and bring him breakfast. 

Castiel watches the sun rise. The hunter emerges from his cabin right on schedule. He disposes of an empty bottle, then stumbles back to the porch. He stops, as usual, on the front steps. He rubs a hand over his face. He staggers forward to the door and braces himself against it with one hand, clutching his chest with the other. He appears injured. 

Castiel wrenches open his window. The noise is enough to startle the hunter. He rushes back inside. 

 _None of my business._  

Castiel remembers when his owner would drink. He would come into the cage muttering and slurring his words. Castiel always thought the hunter was dying. He usually recovered by the next day. 

Considering Dean repeats this behavior morning after morning, Castiel assumes the human is recovering during the day. 

Someone knocks on the door. Castiel sighs. “Come in,” he calls. 

“Do you have time to talk?” asks Dr. Jessica Winchester. She opens the door and steps into the room. 

“As if I have a choice in the matter,” says Castiel. The hunter said he had to talk to Sam, not Jessica, but Sam said he had to talk to Jessica. The hunter has not come in to tell him one way or another. Castiel has a little over a week left to live. It doesn’t matter what happens to him at this point. 

“You can ask me to leave,” says Jessica. 

 _I’ve already done that_. 

“You will come back later,” says Castiel. 

“You don’t want me to come back?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Dr. Jessica Winchester eyes him, pen tapping against her chin. 

Castiel sighs. “If I answer your questions, will you stop coming back?” 

“Yes, if that’s what you want.” 

“All right,” says Castiel. “Then I will answer your questions.” The fastest way to deal with a human is to make a deal. 

“I want to know your history,” says the doctor. “You can start where ever you feel comfortable.” 

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “You want to know the worst of what’s happened to me so you can find out how damaged I am.” 

“I want to know whatever you will tell me. You can tell me only the good memories, if that makes you more comfortable.” 

Castiel sighs. He decides to start with the worst. Perhaps these people want to make sure he is stable enough to continue living in their home. 

“Giving birth to me killed my mother,” says Castiel. How many times will he have to recite his life for a human? “She was human. I never knew her. My father was an angel. His wings are mounted above my owner’s bed.” 

_I’ll show them to you some day, Castiel. I’m taking good care of them._

“My owner is a human,” continues Castiel. “Presumably he was away when your husband and his friend found me.” Castiel bites his lip. He doesn’t know why the words stick in this throat. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t told the others. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Jessica. Perhaps it’s because she is female. “I believe he was keeping me to breed with—with something else. He—I suspect,” Castiel pauses to regain his composure. “I suspect, if he was gone long enough for Dr. Winchester and Mr. Singer to find me, that he was out hunting. It’s possible he has someone else trapped. I would like to—I need—” His voice cracks. 

 _I need to help them. I left them there. I always leave them._  

Suddenly standing is too difficult. He sits down on the bed. 

Dr. Jessica Winchester steps closer. “May I sit beside you?” she asks. 

Castiel nods. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Why is he telling her this? He knew better than to start confessing. It’s too easy to pretend she cares. It’s too easy to show her his scars and hope she will empathize instead of pity, or shrink away in disgust. He is a pathetic, lonely creature. 

The doctor places her hand on Castiel’s upper arm and rubs her palm against his skin in a slow, circular motion. 

It’s all Castiel can do to not collapse into her touch. 

“He will hurt her,” says Castiel quietly. 

“Who will he hurt?” asks Jessica. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Someone you think he’s captured?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is that why you tried to escape?” asks Jessica. “You want to go back—to see if he’s captured someone else?” 

 _I wanted to be free. I didn’t care about anyone else._  

“The thought did not occur to me until a few days ago,” admits Castiel. “When I left, it was because I was being selfish. I just wanted to go.” 

“That’s ok. That’s reasonable.”

_Every night I pray for death._

“I am the only one of my kind,” says Castiel. “Or at least, the only one known to my owner. Without me, he cannot force another angel to breed.” 

“You know that’s not true,” says Jessica. “If this is his plan, your absence won’t stop him. He’ll find another way.” 

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t understand why you care,” says Castiel. “I believe you care. I just don’t understand why. I don’t understand this place.”

“We believe you are equal to us,” says the doctor. “You are not an object here.” 

He wants to believe someone cares. But why would they? The only people who’ve ever cared for him are dead. 

“I’d like to stop talking now,” mutters Castiel. 

Jessica gives his arm a light squeeze. “Thank you for sharing,” she says softly. “I won’t bother you again.” 

Doctor Jessica Winchester is true to her word. She does not return. Doctor Sam Winchester continues to visit him, deliver food, medication, and change his bandages. Mr. Singer usually visits just before going to bed to bid Castiel good night. He tries not to think of the days in terms of how long he must endure living. 

Castiel is standing at his window when Sam visits him that evening. 

The hunter is outside of his cabin, which is unusual for this time of night. He’s usually inside with the lights off. 

“Admiring the view?” asks Dr. Winchester. 

“Watching your brother,” answers Castiel. If the hunter’s health continues to deteriorate, he will be in no condition to kill Castiel when the time comes. 

“Watching Dean? Why?” Dr. Winchester approaches the window and peeks outside. 

“He is not adhering to his usual schedule.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Typically he does not emerge from his cabin until the early morning.” If he wants the hunter to be in remotely decent condition, then the doctor needs to know of his habits. “He usually leaves, disposes of an empty bottle, the returns to his dwelling. Admittedly, I thought he was injured, due to his uncoordinated movements. However, I realized the bottle most likely indicated he was drunk.” 

“How do you know what drunk is?” asks the doctor. 

“My owner was often drunk.” 

Dr. Winchester does not inquire further. “Is that all he’s been doing?” 

“I do not watch him constantly,” answers Castiel. “But I enjoy seeing the sun rise. He usually emerges during that time.” 

Dr. Winchester sighs. “He’s going through some stuff. I’ll talk to him. Thanks for letting me know.” He backs away from the window. “Listen, the reason I came up here was to tell you Jess and I are leaving for a little while. It will just be you, Bobby and Dean up here. Are you ok with that? If it makes you uncomfortable, one of us can stay behind.” 

“I will be fine,” answers Castiel. Humans will do as they please. “Do not change your plans.” 

“I know Dean can be kind of a jerk, but he’s coming around.”

Castiel glances back at the doctor. 

“He’s had a rough life, but he’s not a bad person. He’s not dangerous. I’m not trying to make excuses for him; I just want you to know he’s not going to hurt you while I’m gone.” 

“I am not afraid of him,” says Castiel. 

“Good,” says Dr. Winchester, “Dean’s learning not to see angels and demons as a threat. But if he does anything while I’m gone that makes you uncomfortable, tell Bobby. Dean doesn’t like to admit it, but he’ll do pretty much anything Bobby tells him to do.” 

“Thank you. That is useful information.” 

Dean is a warrior, but he must be the lowest rank in terms of command. 

“We’ll be back in about a week,” says the doctor. 

_If Dean keeps his promise, I will be dead in about a week. What a coincidence._

“Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate that you considered how this would impact me.”

“Of course,” says the doctor. “You’re my most important patient.” 

Castiel mirrors the half-smile he’s seen Sam use on multiple occasions. It seems to work. The doctor claps him on the shoulder and promises to return soon. He tells Castiel he will say his official good bye in the morning. 

When the doctor leaves, Castiel returns to the window. After a few minutes, the doctor is crossing the front lawn. He takes a seat beside his brother. Something about the way Dean’s face changes when he sees Sam makes Castiel’s heart ache. It’s the look of blood recognizing blood, of two people with a history of shared experiences understanding each other in a glance. It’s the look of hope and trust and family and it makes Castiel queasy. 

He steps away from the window and sinks into his bed. How many days does he have left? Six? He’s not sure. He just hopes it will be over soon. 

xxx 

Castiel stands at the top of the stairs. The doctors are gone. The hunter does not come into the house. The bumbling sound coming from the living room must be Mr. Singer. 

He lowers one foot onto the first step, it creeks under his weight. He takes another step. He’s not sure why his heart is beating so ferociously. The humans said he was allowed to leave his room. He forces himself to keep going. When he reaches the bottom, he stops in a vain attempt to calm his heart. 

He works up enough courage to find Mr. Singer. He’s looking at a computer machine on the couch. Castiel clears his throat. 

Mr. Singer jumps and shoves the computer aside. He stands and spins around, fists raised. 

Castiel flinches and stumbles back. 

Mr. Singer lowers his hands. “Jesus. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.” 

Castiel lowers his head. “Apologies.” 

“Don’t mention it. Glad to see you’re out of your room. Do you need something?” 

“I have a question.” 

“All right. What is it?” 

“It is for the hun—for Dean.” 

“You want to talk to Dean?” 

“If possible.” 

Mr. Singer scratches his head. “Sure. You can talk to Dean. He’ll be back in an hour or two. He took Sam and Jess to the airport.” 

Castiel makes a mental note to type “airport” into the computer later. 

“You know you can talk to me too,” says Mr. Singer. “Maybe I can help.” 

“I will wait for Dean. It is not an urgent matter.” 

“Is everything ok?” 

“Yes.” 

“You sure? You’ve been kinda quiet the past few days.” Mr. Singer chuckles. “I mean more so than usual.” 

Castiel frowns. “Should I be louder?” 

Mr. Singer laughs again. “No. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. I’ll tell Dean you want to talk to him.” 

“Thank you.” 

“While you’re down here, do you want me to fix you some lunch?” 

“No, thank you. I will return to my room, if that’s all right.” 

“Of course.” 

Castiel nods and backs out of the room. He has to concentrate to keep himself from rushing back up the stairs. 

He positions himself by the window to watch for Dean. The doctor said Dean was changing. The doctor said Dean was not to hurt Castiel. Did Mr. Singer forbid it? If he did, then Dean will not follow through with his promise to Castiel. 

Lost in thought, he barely hears the rumble of a vehicle as it approaches the house. Castiel abandons the window and goes to his door. He stops in the center of the room. He will wait for Dean here. He paces. 

After some time, he hears a human approaching. He can sense it’s the hunter. He tries to calm himself. He sits on the edge of his bed. 

The hunter knocks. 

“Come in,” says Castiel. 

Dean pushes the door open but does not enter. “Bobby said you wanted to talk to me.” He leans against the doorway. He smells of alcohol, but it is not as potent as it was during their last encounter. 

“I want to know if our deal still stands,” says Castiel. “You left abruptly the last time we spoke and Sam said you are beginning to feel differently about my kind.” 

The hunter sighs and enters the room. He closes the door behind him. “First of all,” he says, “I don’t feel any different towards creatures like you. Second of all, our deal is still on as far as I’m concerned.”

 _Go back. Save them._  

Castiel tries to dismiss the thought. “I have five days left after today. Jessica, Sam and Bobby do not know. They are happy with my progress. When the time comes, I will make an attempt on your life. You will kill me defending yourself. This will ensure your brother does not get angry with you, as requested.” 

 _Go back._  

He doesn’t realize he’s staring at Dean until Dean starts staring back. The hunter has gone very pale. He sways, takes a step back and catches himself on the wall. 

Castiel stands. Dean does not seem drunk. He does not look ill or injured. He recognizes the expression on the hunter’s face. It’s a mirror to his own thoughts. Dean’s eyes are unfocused. His heart rate has increased. He’s breathing too hard. He is remembering something; something that frightens him. 

“You’re not going to be able to do it, are you?” asks Castiel. He should not have asked Dean to do it in the first place. 

The hunter drinks from a metal container in his hand. “I can do it,” he snaps. He pushes away from the wall and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel paces in his quarters. He glances at the door. Dean will not be able to fulfill his end of their arrangement. Dean is not the same man he was a week ago. He is sure Dean's brother is the source of the change. Castiel cannot begrudge Dean for being so affected by blood. 

 _Death or freedom._  

He stops pacing. He has a choice. He has the power to choose how he leaves this place. He does not have to stay. For once his fate is not in the hands of a human. He’s not sure why it took him so long to realize his own power. 

He sits on the edge of his bed. He’s made up his mind. Instead of fear and humiliation, he feels an intoxicating combination of rage and hope. He will leave tonight. He may not be able to fly, but if he can unbind his broken wing, perhaps he can glide. He’s experienced far greater pain. He can push through this if it means freedom.


	8. Well shit.

Dean avoids the house as much as he can over the next few days. Sam asks him what he said to the angel. Dean tells him half of the truth—or at least tries to—he’s not sure what it wanted or how to explain. Sam seems to understand though. Jess arrives on a red-eye flight and Dean greets her briefly outside. She spends most of her time with Sam and Bobby. Dean stays in his cabin. 

A week goes by. Dean can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Castiel asking to be free. He sees the faces of other angels he’s killed. He sees his father. He tries to remember his mother. He tries to forget about the demon. The memories are eating him alive. He spends a few hours tossing beneath the blankets. It’s cold in the cabin but he doesn’t use the fireplace. He sleeps—he assumes he sleeps—but doesn’t remember it. The days bleed together. 

It’s another night. He’s sitting on the porch with a drink in his hand when he sees Sammy walking across the lawn. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” asks Dean. 

Sam sits down beside Dean on the porch steps. He’s gearing up for something, Dean can tell. 

“Did Bobby send you out to check on me?” asks Dean. He knows he’s been irritable. He knows his eyes are sunken and bloodshot. He knows he’s been avoiding people. 

“Jess and I are leaving tomorrow,” says Sam. 

Did Dean scare them away? Are they leaving because of him? Did the angel die? “Oh,” says Dean. 

Sam looks at his brother though his bangs. “We got a call today about a possession. We need to take care of it sooner rather than later.” He pauses. “Jess wants to talk to us before we go.” 

“Why?” asks Dean. 

Sam bites his lip. He was clearly elected to be the one to retrieve Dean from his self-imposed isolation. He’s not here by choice. “We’re worried—well, Jess and Bobby are worried.” He extends his hand for Dean’s glass. Dean gives it to him and Sam drains it. “I had someone to talk to when Dad died,” he says. “Jess talked me though it, made sure I had my head straight. You didn’t have anybody.” 

“It’s been a month, Sam. I’m fine.”

“A month isn’t long enough to get over someone that important,” says Sam. “I didn’t care about him nearly as much as you did and I’m still dealing with the fallout.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” says Dean. “There’s nothing to talk about even if I did.” 

“I’m not going to push you,” says Sam. “I just want you to know you’re not alone.”

But Dean will be alone. As soon as Sam gets on that plane tomorrow, Dean will be alone. Bobby is Sam’s surrogate father, but he’s more of an uncle to Dean. He’s probably overstayed his welcome anyway. Once Sam leaves, Dean will leave. He doesn’t know where he’ll go after this. He tells himself he’ll pick up where John left off. He’ll find the creature that orphaned him and Sam. He’ll kill the monsters that invade his world. He tells himself things will go back to normal. He tells himself he’s still a hunter even if John is dead. 

Sam lightly punches Dean in the shoulder and stands up. “You going to take us to the airport tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” answers Dean. “What time?” 

“Got to be there by 7 a.m.” 

Dean grumbles. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Jerk,” he mutters. It’s a childhood taunt. It’s an insult from a time when Dean was old enough to curse, but Sam wasn’t. John didn’t have many rules, but age-restricted cussing was one of them. 

Dean grins. It’s been years since they’ve dared to tease each other. “Bitch,” he says. 

Sam smiles back at him. “You better be there tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be there,” says Dean. 

Sam goes back to the house. Dean goes back to the cabin and begins packing his things.

 

xxx

 

They arrive at the airport at 6:30 a.m. because Dean drives too fast. Bobby said his goodbyes at the house. He stayed behind to watch the angel. Dean parks and walks Sam and Jess inside instead of dropping them off at the curb. They say goodbye in a corner away from the security line. 

Jess hugs him and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “Sam said he talked to you,” she whispers. “You can call me any time for any reason.” 

Dean laughs to suppress whatever other emotions are trying to claw their way to the surface. “Thanks Jess. You might regret that offer.” 

Sam’s up next. He crushes Dean in a sasquatch hug. “Bobby said you packed you duffle. You planning to head out?” 

Dean struggles free of the hug so he can answer. “Yeah. I need to hit the road.” 

Sam nods. “We figured; that’s why we hid your stuff.” 

“You what?” 

“Bobby will give it back later,” says Sam. 

“What about my hunting gear?” 

“He’ll give it back later. I think he doesn’t want you to go.” 

“God dammit Sammy, I know that was your idea.”

Sam doesn’t even pretend to be sorry. He just shrugs and Jessica suppresses a giggle. “Take care of Castiel for me,” says Sam. “Bobby’s not exactly a master of conversation.” A little frown pulls at the corners of his mouth. “And Dean? Stop calling Castiel _it._ ” 

Dean lets out an indignant huff as Sam and Jess head to security. He goes back to the Impala and checks the trunk where he’s sure he’d locked his bag last night. It’s empty. His baby brother is a bitch.

A pathetic, secret part of him is glad he has to stay. Technically, he could leave anyway. He could get new gear. He could buy new clothes. He doesn’t own much. This is a thinly veiled excuse, but it’s an excuse nonetheless. 

Dean stops to restock his cabin before heading back because _everything_ he owned was in the car and Sam left no stone unturned. It’s a testament to how distract he is that he didn’t notice things were missing.

It’s lunchtime when he gets back. Bobby’s on the porch of the main house when he pulls into the cabin driveway. Dean unloads the Impala and reluctantly decides to be social. He sits in a rocker beside the older hunter. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” says Bobby. 

“Why?” 

He jerks his head toward the house. “Castiel wants to talk to you.” 

Great. That’s exactly what he wants to deal with right now. Dean rolls his eyes. “Is it urgent?” he asks. 

“He says no, but he’s been itching about something for the past three days. Jess tried to talk to him, but he’ll only tell her so much.” Bobby smirks. “Looks like you’ve made a friend.” 

Dean mutters under his breath. He gets up and forces himself to go into the house. He gets out his flask and takes a long pull before going deeper into the house. He can hear someone upstairs. He finds the angel’s door ajar and raps his knuckles against the wood. 

“Come in,” says Castiel. 

“Bobby said you wanted to talk to me.” Dean leans against the doorframe, flask still in his hand.

“I want to know if our deal still stands,” says the angel. “You left abruptly the last time we spoke and Sam said you are beginning to feel differently about my kind.” 

Dean sighs and closes the door. Everything is a closed-door conversation with Castiel. “First of all,” begins Dean, “I don’t feel any different towards things like you. Second of all, our deal is still on as far as I’m concerned.”

Castiel nods. “I have five days left after today. Jessica, Sam and Bobby do not know. They are happy with my progress. When the time comes, I will make an attempt on your life. You will kill me defending yourself. This will ensure your brother does not get angry with you, as requested.” 

Dean’s not sure he’s ever met a creature so desperate for death. Suddenly, a memory of a demon begging while John demands information flashes across his mind. Dean feels dizzy. He takes a step back and braces himself against the wall. There are two versions of Dean; Sam’s and John’s. Right now they’re at war with each other. 

Castiel is on its— _his—_ feet, his good wing twitching. He’s studying Dean. “You’re not going to be able to do it, are you?” 

Dean takes another drink, draining the flask. “I can do it,” snaps Dean. He pushes himself from the wall and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him. 

He composes himself before going back out to Bobby. He makes an excuse—he’s tired from getting up early, he didn’t sleep well last night—and retreats to his cabin. He pours himself another glass of whiskey once he’s inside and crashes into bed. Finally, sleep comes.

 

xxx

 

It’s dark outside when he wakes up and at first he’s not sure what disturbed him. He blinks through his already-developed hangover and rolls out of bed. He listens, unsure if it was a dream or something outside. He hears something dragging across the gravel driveway and goes to inspect. He bought a knife in town. He’s not unarmed, but he’s not as prepared as he’d like to be. Fucking Sammy. 

He sees a figure struggling in the darkness and holds his breath. When it moves again he can see a human body kneeling in the dirt and an extended wing silhouetted in the moonlight. He exhales. Fucking angel. 

He leaves the knife on the table by the door and goes outside to investigate. He tries to keep his voice low in the darkness. “You hurt?” he asks. 

The angel jumps. Apparently he hadn’t noticed Dean approaching. His wing snaps back and both wings shift then droop awkwardly against the ground. 

Dean can’t tell if he’s injured himself more. The cabin is closer than the main house. “Fuck me,” he mutters. The angel doesn’t say anything. 

He hauls the angel to his feet. The poor bastard crash-landed in the rockiest part of the driveway, proving yet again that luck is not one of his superpowers. The angel does not protest as Dean wraps his arm around his waist and leads them back to the cabin. Castiel doesn’t look too badly injured, but he will not lift his head. Dean’s not sure what he was doing outside, but he has his suspicions. 

As they enter the cabin, Dean searches for a place to let the angel recover. He exhales, annoyed, as he realizes the couch isn’t big enough for Castiel’s wings. Dean leads Castiel over to his bed.

He slides from Dean’s arms and sits on the edge of the mattress, head still hanging and eyes still downcast. Dean itches to break the silence, but something tells him to let it be, for now. 

Dean eyes the angel, relived to see no obvious damage. The last thing he wants to do is stitch up a monster at two in the morning. Castiel’s brow glistens with sweat in the lamplight. Dean reaches out a hand and touches his forehead to check for a fever. It’s a reflex. He regrets it instantly. 

Castiel jumps violently as Dean’s skin makes contact with his own. The angel’s head jerks up and he pushes himself back, away from Dean’s hand. He tries to pull his wings around himself, but the broken one is still bound. He cries out in pain, eyes wide with terror. 

“Sorry,” says Dean, quickly withdrawing his hand. He steps back to give the angel some room. 

Color floods into Castiel’s cheeks and he draws his knees to his chest. He covers his head with his arms and sits in silence. 

Is it embarrassed? This is new. He has no skills here—this is Sam’s arena. He needs damage control. Dean, at a loss for what to do, goes to the little kitchen area and quickly returns with a damp dishtowel. He clears his throat. “Mind if I sit down?” he asks. 

Castiel shutters, but then seems to slowly nod his head. Dean decides that means yes—or at the very least it isn’t a vehement “no.” 

“I brought this,” says Dean. He holds up the towel, but Castiel doesn’t raise his head. Dean isn’t sure how to continue. _You look kinda sweaty,_ he thinks, _so I thought I’d rub your face with this towel and maybe that will magically make you feel better._ He use to do this for Sammy when he got sick. It’s not much, but it’s what he knows. “Can I—” he begins, but loses the rest of the sentence. 

Finally Castiel raises his head, just enough to peer at Dean with one blood-shot blue eye. He watches Dean for a minute, seeming to deliberately slow his breathing. 

“You ok?” asked Dean. 

Castiel actually nods this time. He lifts his head and sits up a little straighter. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. His face is still red and his eyes are glistening. 

Dean recognizes that look. Castiel is upset and trying to hide it. The angel is trying to pull himself out of whatever is going on in his mind. Castiel still has his knees pressed into his chest, but he is watching Dean’s every move, eyes a little more aware; mind a little more alert. 

“I thought you might have a fever,” mutters Dean. “Sam said that might happen. I didn’t mean to—er—startle you, I guess.” He holds the towel up again. “This is cold. It might help. I mean; it’ll help if your face feels hot, otherwise it’ll just be cold.” 

Castiel’s eyes go from Dean to the towel and back to Dean. “I should not have jumped,” he says. “My apologies.” 

“It’s ok,” says Dean. He suddenly feels guilty and he doesn’t know why. He tries not to dwell on it. “I scared you. I shouldn—”

As soon as Dean says “scared” Castiel looks away and a shadow falls over his face. He is disappointed in himself. Dean understands now. He let Dean see his fear and weakness and is now grappling with the humiliating after effects. 

If this were Sammy and they were about fifteen years younger, Dean would make a joke. He’d make his little brother feel better by distracting him. Dean would say Sam had scared _him_ because he thought Sam was going to fight back and Dean would talk about how tough Sam was and Dean was the one who was afraid. He’d babble on until Sam forgot his humiliation and felt strong again. But this isn’t Sam and Castiel is not a child. 

Dean, again at a loss as to how to proceed, holds out the towel. “I wouldn’t trust me either,” he says. He’s going soft. He knows it. John would never approve of this. Dean’s sitting on a bed with a wounded angel and he’s _sympathizing_ with it. John would hate this, but Sam would be ecstatic. Dean decides he’s still doing this for Sam, and not because he recognizes something of himself in Castiel.

Castiel sighs and turns his eyes to the towel. He takes it from Dean’s hand and cautiously touches it to his face. He closes his eyes as the cool fabric meets his skin. Fever or not, he seems to appreciate the gesture. 

Dean shifts on the bed and Castiel’s eyes shoot open, staring him down. Dean suddenly realizes he’s lifted his hand again and now it hangs awkwardly in the space between them. Castiel tilts his head into the dishtowel and slowly lifts his free hand. 

Their fingertips brush together and Dean feels something like lightening spark through his arm and flood his body. _That’s new,_ he thinks.

“Your face is red,” says Castiel quietly. 

It’s Dean’s turn to jump. He pulls his hand back and quickly stands. He puts a good two yards between them before he faces the angel again. Shit. He should have known better. As soon as he let himself think of the angel as a person and not a thing, something changed. He tells himself it just happened today. He tells himself Castiel hasn’t been keeping him up at night since he arrived. 

Castiel frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

Dean says nothing. His head is spinning. His heart is beating, pounding in his ears. His face feels like it’s on fire, he is not surprised Castiel said it was red. The last time Dean felt like this he was in 6th grade and Lisa Braden had just kissed him during recess. 

“We should sleep,” croaks Dean, when he finally finds his voice. 

“I will return to the house,” says Castiel. 

Dean shakes his head. Why is he shaking his head? “Stay put,” he says. “I’ll crash on the couch.” He wonders what kind of life-altering mistake he is making. _Let him stay?_ he thinks. _He can’t stay. He might kill you in your sleep and take off._

  
“I shouldn’t stay,” says Castiel. 

“Well I don’t want to wake up Bobby trying to get you back inside, so you’re kinda out of options,” says Dean. “If Bobby wakes up, he’s going to want to know what you were doing outside and you’ll have to explain.” He is doubling down on his terrible decision. 

“I make you uneasy,” says Castiel. 

_Fuck._

Dean shakes his head firmly. “You’re staying.” If Castiel escapes, it’s Dean’s own stupid fault. “We can make each other uneasy together.” 

Castiel looks at him, puzzled, but Dean has no explanation. Finally, Castiel sighs again. “I will stay,” he says, “but I will not take your bed.” 

Dean points to his wings. “Those won’t fit on the couch.” 

“I’m aware,” says Castiel.

“You can’t make them…you know…” He isn’t sure if this is a sensitive issue. “They don’t disappear?” He rarely sees angels with their wings out. He doesn’t know how they do it, but they usually make their wings invisible. 

“No,” answers Castiel. “I am a half-breed.” 

“Then how are you going to fit on the couch?”           

“I will sleep on the floor.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Cas,” snaps Dean. “You can’t sleep on the floor. Bobby would skin me alive if I let you do that.” _And you’re hurt. And I care. And I don’t want you to get hurt more. Why do I care? I don’t care._  

“Cas?” asks the angel. 

The nickname just slipped out. “Sorry,” mutters Dean. “Castiel.” 

Castiel looks puzzled. 

“It’s a nickname,” says Dean. “Humans give them to their friends.” 

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “We are friends?” he asks. 

Dean hates Sam for getting him into this; hates himself more. “I don’t know,” says Dean. “It’s late. I’m exhausted. Just make yourself comfortable and we’ll get you back to the house in the morning.” 

Castiel still looks confused, but he doesn’t ask for an explanation. He cautiously moves his knees away from his chest and examines the bed.           

“You need help?” Dean feels himself blushing again. This is quickly becoming the most ridiculous night of his life. 

Much to his surprise, Castiel blushes too. “My wing,” he mutters.

“The broken one?” asks Dean.          

Castiel nods. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

Castiel doesn’t answer. 

Dean senses he is about to start beating himself up again, this time for needing help. “Does it hurt to move it?” he asks, rushing to distract Castiel from whatever thoughts are going through his head. “You probably shouldn’t move it on your own. God only knows what you did to it trying to…” he stops. “What _were_ you trying to do?” 

Castiel bites his lower lip and takes a deep breath. “I was trying to fly,” he says. 

“With one wing?” asks Dean. 

“I’ve flown with a broken wing before,” he says. 

“It’s still bound,” says Dean. “What the hell was your plan?” 

Castiel glares. “I was testing the mobility of my uninjured wing. I was going to unbind the other and fly.” 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You were escaping.” 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “I realized after speaking with you today, that you will not be able to follow through with our deal. I decided to take matters into my own hands.” 

“I’ll follow through,” says Dean. 

Castiel shakes his head. “Your bond with your brother will not allow it. My health means a great deal to him. He means a great deal to you, ergo my health means a great deal to you, ergo you will not be able to let me die. This is most likely the reason you’re allowing me to stay in your cabin.” 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, prepared to deny, but Castiel is right. Dean sighs. “Yeah,” is all he manages to say. 

“It’s all right,” says Castiel. “Once I realized you and Dr. Winchester were brothers, I suspected this would be a problem. I understand humans have very strong familial bonds.”

“And angels don’t?” It’s a question but the words come out with more bite than intended. 

“I don’t know,” answers Castiel. “I was—I...” He trails off. 

Dean feels a stab of guilt. “Sorry,” he says for 50th time that night.

“Do you even know what you are apologizing for?”

“Uh…” That’s as far as Dean gets. He knows he’s hit a sore spot, he’s just not sure what that spot is.

Castiel smiles, it’s small but it’s the first time Dean has seen him express joy. “You are very different from other hunters.” 

Dean breaks eye contact before he starts to blush again. Train wreck. This is a complete train wreck. Dean’s got a fucking crush on a fucking half-breed monster. Dean’s acutely aware of his own sexuality. He’s known he was bi since he was 15. Nobody else knows, but that’s not even the point. He doesn’t do crushes and he damn sure doesn’t do crushes on monsters. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable again,” says Castiel. 

“No,” says Dean quickly. 

“Yes,” says Castiel. “I don’t know why you insist on denying it.” He seems genuinely confused.

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Ok. Yes. I’m uncomfortable. But only because this is new to me and I’m trying not to fuck up.” 

“Or Bobby will skin you alive,” says Castiel. 

It takes Dean a minute to realize Castiel is parroting him. He laughs. “Right. Bobby and Sam both.” 

“Presumably that is meant metaphorically and not literally?” 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“What does it mean?” asks Castiel. “What is the literal interpretation?” 

“Dude.” Dean realizes Castiel isn’t joking. He’s actually confused. Dean feels sick. Of course Castiel doesn’t get it. He’s covered head to toe in scars and Sam said they found him caged in a fucking silo. Holy shit. Did Castiel think Dean was serious? Was the angel actually worried about it? Fuck. Castiel is still watching him. He’s still waiting for an answer. “It just means they’d be mad at me.” 

“And as a result of their anger?” 

“They maybe wouldn’t talk to me for a while? I guess it would depend on what I did.”

Castiel nods slowly. “I think I understand. You are concerned they would be angry then withhold affection.” 

“Cas I—” Dean stops. _I what? I’m sorry I’m a big baby because I’m scared my family will stop liking me? I’m sorry I was so careless? I’m sorry I bitched about ‘withholding affection’ when clearly you’ve been affection starved for how long? Your whole life? Your adult life? How old are you?_ Dean’s pretty good at knowing what he should say. He’s never been good at actually saying it. He’s sick again. How many angels has he killed? How much pain has he caused? 

Castiel is still watching him. After a bizarre few seconds of staring, Castiel pushes away from the bed and gets to his feet. “I should go,” he says. 

Dean sees him sway and is at his side before he can second-guess himself. “Easy, Cas,” he said softly. 

Castiel holds one hand to his face and rests the other on Dean’s shoulder. He’s tense. They both are. Dean feels that same electric shock pulse through his body as he holds Castiel upright, but he can’t back away or Castiel will fall. 

The angel’s face twists with pain. Dean doesn’t know if it’s his wing or something else. He can feel Cas’ heart beating wildly beneath his bare chest as he supports the angel’s body. He nudges the hand clutching the collar of his t-shirt with his chin. “Hang onto me for a sec,” he says. Dean stops thinking. He lets himself fall into caretaker mode.

Castiel gets a firm grip around his neck. Dean leads him over to the couch. “Can you hang on right here?” he asks.

Castiel nods and shifts his weight so he is half standing, half leaning against the side of the couch. 

Once Castiel is stable, Dean hurries to the bed. He pulls the mattress onto the floor and drags it closer to the couch. He stops in front of Castiel and returns to the angel’s side to help lower him down. “Lay on your side with the broken wing up,” says Dean, trying to direct Castiel as he helps him onto the floor. Dean crouches on the mattress as he settles Castiel into the bed. “What hurts?” 

“It’s just my wing,” says Castiel. “I’m better now. I should go.” 

“Cas.” Dean channels what he can remember of his mother’s commanding tone. “You’re staying here tonight. I’ll make sure Bobby takes a look at you in the morning, but you don’t need to move anymore. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

The angel looks up at Dean from his side. His breathing is heavy. He doesn’t argue. 

“Did Sam give you anything for pain?” 

“Yes. I don’t know what it’s called.”

“Is it human medicine? Can you take human medicine?” 

Castiel laughs. 

Dean has no idea what triggered it. “You want to let me in on the joke, Cas?” 

“You are helping me,” says Castiel, still grinning. “This place is full of contradictions.” 

“Is this like, an angel-humor thing?” asks Dean. Because it’s either that or Cas is delirious. 

Castiel quiets and waves a hand, dismissing Dean. “Never mind.” 

Dean gets up and retrieves the dishtowel from the bedside table. He grabs a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass from the kitchen area and fills it with water. He soaks the towel under the faucet and rings it out. He goes back to Cas and kneels beside him. “Take this and drink,” he says. 

Castiel looks from Dean to the glass to the pills Dean’s offering and for a second, Dean thinks he’s going to protest. But then Cas props himself up on his elbow and pops the pills in his mouth then reaches for the water. Dean doesn’t let go of it. They hold the glass while Castiel drinks. When he’s done, Dean sets the glass on the floor beside the mattress. 

“Can I see if your head is hot?” he asks. 

Castiel nods. 

“I’m going to touch your face,” Dean clarifies, remembering his earlier mistake. He just invaded the hell out of the angel’s personal space a second before, but maybe touching his face is more intimate. 

“I understand,” says Castiel, all traces of humor gone. He closes his eyes, a frown pulling at his lips. 

Dean cautiously places his palm against Castiel’s forehead and the angel exhales deeply. He is warm. Dean needs to call Sam in the morning and find out what to do next. Beneath his hand, Castiel suddenly seems to relax. Dean runs his thumb over Castiel’s skin, not realizing he is stroking his eyebrow until it is too late. 

Castiel lets out another breath and Dean slowly moves his hand up and begins stroking his hair. Castiel flinches and Dean’s hand shoots back. _What is wrong with me?_  

“You might get cold later,” mutters Dean. He quickly covers Castiel with a sheet and leaves the heavier blankets within reach on the mattress. He leaves the towel on the edge of the mattress. He rises slowly and turns off all the lights save the one by the couch. Once he is settled and Castiel seems comfortable, he turns off the last light. “Good night, Cas,” he says. 

“Good night, Dean.”


	9. Healer, Hunter, Doctor, Warrior, Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated 9/10/16

Bobby is the only one still in the house. One human will be easier to bypass. Castiel waits until well into the night before he leaves his room. These humans do not keep him locked in. They seem to mean it as some kind of gesture of trust and goodwill. Castiel knows in exchange for this gesture he is supposed to offer his trust. 

He scowls as he creeps silently through the house. Humans constantly assign grand meanings to small, trivial actions. He will not offer his trust in trade for the lack of a deadbolt. 

Castiel steps outside and stretches his neck to greet the moonlight. A cool breeze rustles through his feathers and for a brief, blissful moment, he forgets he’s broken. He forgets he is an inhuman mongrel. He is a small boy clinging to his father’s hand before gathering the courage to take his first flight. 

He sucks in a deep breath and buries the memory as air fills his lungs. The good memories are his and no one can take them from him. They are his only possessions, his secret well of hope. 

He stretches his good wing and flexes the other as best he can. He takes a running start and throws all of his strength into getting airborne. 

His flight is short lived. He crashes in a heap in the gravel driveway. The pain is blinding and he’s not sure if he screams. He pounds his fist into the ground and grits his teeth. He pushes himself back onto his feet and stands. He can do this.

Castiel extends his good wing. Then he flexes the broken wing and a new spectacular jolt of pain shocks through his body. He crumples to the ground, panting. He is too weak to escape. He is always too weak to escape. He stares at the gravel beneath his fingers. He crashed many times when he was a boy. His father always knew how to inspire him to try again, always knew what to say to make him stand back up. 

Castiel does not call upon those words now. He does not let those memories surface. If someone senses his joy, they will find a way to take it from him. 

A voice calls out to him in the darkness, low and rough. “You hurt?”

Castiel flinches. He did not even notice Dean approaching until he spoke. He pulls his extended wing back to his side and for a moment, considers running. He does a quick assessment of his odds of success, then decides against it. He’s failed again. He’s trapped here. Death is the only escape. 

Dean mutters something, but Castiel isn’t sure what it he says. Suddenly Dean’s arm is around his waist as the hunter pulls Castiel to his feet. He leads them back to his cabin. 

Dr. Winchester and Mr. Singer were kind to him after his first attempt to escape. They are not here now. He’s alone with the warrior. Logically, the only way to stop Castiel from trying to escape is to punish him. Though Dean has changed, he still has a job to do. Warriors are enlisted to the unsavory deeds others cannot stomach. Castiel decides he cannot begrudge Dean for whatever happens next. 

Castiel’s father was a warrior. He swallows the memory. He isn’t sure how he will be punished for his insubordination. He begins to mentally prepare himself, shutting down his thoughts and entombing himself in his mind. 

Dean pauses as they enter the cabin. He huffs, then leads Castiel over to his bed. 

Castiel focuses on the gentle hum of an appliance coming from somewhere off to the right, a refrigerator? It doesn’t matter. He listens as the noise becomes a metronome and he begins to let himself drift away. 

Suddenly something touches his cheek. Castiel isn’t ready yet. He needs more time to shield himself from whatever is about to happen. He’s still too alert, too vulnerable. He jumps and pushes himself back across the bed. In his haste, he pins his broken wing and cries out. The pain is too intense, but he knows more will follow to rectify his behavior. He has to get himself under control. 

It hasn’t been this difficult for him to refocus his mind since he was a child. 

He searches the room wildly; desperate for anything that will help him enter into the trance he needs to survive. He sees Dean. The hunter says something, he has one hand raised slightly, but he lowers it as he steps back. 

A hand. That’s what touched him. It was Dean’s hand. Why Dean’s hand touched him is still unclear. The hunter obviously didn’t intent to strike him. Has Castiel really lived without pain for so long that he is beginning to fear it again? How long did it take him to build up that indifference? Five years? Ten? How long did it take that fortress to crack and allow fear to ooze back in? Two weeks?

Castiel pulls his knees to his chest and covers his head with his arms. The humiliation is almost punishment enough. He is weak. He has always been weak. He was born as the embodiment of weakness. He was the weakness that killed his mother. He was the weakness that killed his father. Now he is alone, weakness waiting to infect someone else. He almost feels obligated to warn the hunter.

Dean clears his throat. “Mind if I sit down?” he asks. 

It’s Dean’s bed. He does not need to ask Castiel’s permission. The question reeks of some polite human custom. 

Castiel nods. He wonders, briefly, if his mother would have been able to teach him the ways of humanity, if she could have helped him fit in. He stomps the thought down quickly. 

The bed sinks as Dean takes a seat. “I brought this,” he says. 

Castiel does not want to know what Dean brought back over from where ever he went. 

“Can I—” begins Dean. His heart rate has increased and his scent is different. Is it fear? Does Dean fear him? 

Castiel lifts his head to peer at the hunter. He counts his breaths and tries to regain some semblance of control. 

“You ok?” asks Dean. He’s holding a damp cloth in his hand. He sounds bizarrely genuine. 

Castiel nods. He allows himself to relax back into his body. His face is hot and his eyes sting. There is little he can do to conceal his feelings now. He has never been able to hide shame. “I’m sorry,” he says. He overreacted. Dean was trying to help. 

“I thought you might have a fever,” mutters Dean. “I didn’t mean to—er—startle you, I guess.” He extends the cloth. “This is cold,” he continues. “It might help. I mean; it’ll help if your face feels hot, otherwise it’ll just be cold.” 

Castiel’s face does feel hot. Dean is treading lightly now. Castiel is so broken and pathetic that he’s managed to elicit pity from a _hunter._

 _I am broken,_ thinks Castiel. The acceptance of that fact does not sting as much as he thought it would. _I am so broken I cannot differentiate kindness from cruelty._  

“I should not have jumped,” says Castiel. “My apologies.” 

“It’s ok,” says Dean. “I scared you. I shouldn—” 

Castiel hangs his head, body once again heavy with humiliation. Of course the hunter saw his fear. 

Dean is silent for a moment, heart still beating furiously. He seems to be panicked about something, but Castiel cannot begin to fathom what that could be. 

“I wouldn’t trust me either,” says Dean at last. 

Castiel isn’t sure what to make of that statement. If Dean does not want his trust, what does he want instead? Castiel sighs and decides to begin with the cloth, because obviously Dean wants him to take it. Dean mentioned something about his face, so Castiel lifts the cloth to his cheek. It is mercifully cool. He closes his eyes and feels a modicum of tension ebb away. 

Movement on the bed startles him and he opens his eyes. It was a trap, a diversion. Dean moved and his hand is raised. Castiel braces himself for the pain and searches for a weapon. 

But Dean is still unarmed. He’s gaping at Castiel and his hand is trembling. Castiel decides Dean’s hand is currently the biggest mystery. He vaguely remembers seeing his owner touch hands with other hunters when they would arrive at his home. Is it a greeting? Is Dean greeting him as a human would greet another human? 

Castiel slowly lifts his hand. Dean’s heart is pounding. Castiel’s hearing is not as sensitive as it would be if he was a pure angel, but it is more sensitive than a human’s. There are some advantages to his mutant genome. 

He touches the tips of his fingers to Dean’s and the hunter’s eyes widen. Dean’s cheeks begin to blossom in a pink that quickly becomes red. Castiel has no idea what to make of that. He’s never seen that kind of reaction from a human. Perhaps he did something wrong. Perhaps Dean does not know his skin is turning colors. 

“Your face is red,” says Castiel. 

Dean jumps, snatches his hand away and stumbles away from the bed. He turns again to face Castiel. His breathing pattern has changed again and his heartbeat has increased to rate Castiel thinks could be unhealthy. 

Castiel frowns. “I’m sorry.” 

Dean just stares at him for several seconds, making no note of the apology. “We should sleep,” he says. His voice is strange, forced. 

“I will return to the house,” says Castiel.

Dean shakes his head. “Stay put,” he says. “I’ll crash on the couch.” 

His tone is not commanding. He cannot possibly want Castiel to stay. He seems terrified. “I shouldn’t stay,” says Castiel. 

“Well I don’t want to wake up Bobby trying to get you back inside, so you’re kinda out of options,” says Dean. “If Bobby wakes up, he’s going to want to know what you were doing outside and you’ll have to explain.” 

That is a fragile protest. “I make you uneasy,” says Castiel. 

Dean shakes his head. His breathing has slowed to a rhythm closer to normal. “You’re staying,” he says. “We can make each other uneasy together.”

Castiel has no skills to navigate this kind of interaction. It seems they’ve entered into some kind of negotiation. He takes a guess and hopes it is acceptably human. “I will stay,” he says, “but I will not take your bed.” 

Dean points to his wings. “Those won’t fit on the couch.” 

Castiel stops himself from rolling his eyes because Dean seems to be aiming for kindness. “I’m aware,” he says. 

“You can’t make them…you know…” Dean seems to be talking about his wings. “They don’t disappear?”

“No,” answers Castiel. “I am a half-breed.” He tries to keep the bite out of his tone. It’s not Dean’s fault. No one knows how Castiel functions; he barely knows himself. 

“Then how are you going to fit on the couch?” asks Dean. 

“I will sleep on the floor.” Obviously. Where else would he stay? 

“For fuck’s sake, Cas,” snaps Dean. “You can’t sleep on the floor. Bobby would skin me alive if I let you do that.” 

There’s that phrase again. Dean seems to be constantly worried that he will be “skinned alive,” though Castiel isn’t certain of the legitimacy of that fear. Mr. Singer and Dr. Winchester do not seem terribly violent. Perhaps it is a turn of phrase. The use of “Cas” is also puzzling. Is it just a shortened version of his name, or is it a title that sounds similar to his full name but holds a different meaning? 

“Cas?” he asks. 

Dean’s face reddens again. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Castiel.” 

What is he apologizing for this time? Apparently Dean notices his confusion. 

“It’s a nickname,” says Dean. “Humans give them to their friends.” 

Castiel tries to find a double meaning in that. “We are friends?” he asks. Was Dean apologizing for trying to be his friend? 

“I don’t know,” says Dean, obviously frustrated. “It’s late. I’m exhausted. Just make yourself comfortable and we’ll get you back to the house in the morning.” 

That is not an explanation, but Castiel knows it’s the only explanation he’s going to get. He begins to stretch out his legs. He shifts his weight and his wing sends a shock of pain in protest. He can feel the hunter watching him. 

“You need help?” asks Dean. 

Castiel’s face feels hot. He does need help. “My wing,” he mutters. He instantly regrets it. He should not ask for help. He shouldn’t have tried to move. He should stay where he is and figure out a more comfortable position once Dean is asleep. 

“The broken one?” asks Dean. 

Castiel nods. He can’t get out of it now. 

“What do you need me to do?” asks Dean. 

Castiel doesn’t answer. He doesn’t _need_ anything. Need is weakness. Then again, Castiel is weak so perhaps he does need. He’s fallen too far, become too comfortable in this strange place. His shield is completely dissolved. He fears pain to the point that he would do almost anything to avoid it. 

For a moment, he’s relieved his father is dead. He sacrificed himself so Castiel could be safe and strong. He would not be able to stomach what Castiel has become. 

“Does it hurt to move it?” asks Dean. “You probably shouldn’t move it on your own.” 

The hunter’s babbling pulls Castiel from his thoughts. 

“God only knows what you did to it trying to…” Dean stops. “What _were_ you trying to do?” 

Castiel bites his lip and exhales. “I was trying to fly,” he says. 

“With one wing?” asks Dean. 

“I’ve flown with a broken wing before,” answers Castiel. That’s a lie. Castiel’s had his wing broken before, but his owner never allowed him the freedom to fly. Other than his ill-fated escape last week, it has been decades since his last flight. His wings were always bound. He has no idea what compelled him to lie.

“It’s still bound,” says Dean. “What the hell was your plan?” 

Castiel glares. “I was testing the mobility of my uninjured wing,” he snaps. He didn’t have a plan. He’s not ready to admit that. “I was going to unbind the other and…I was…I—” 

“You were escaping,” finishes Dean. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. He can’t lie about that. It’s obvious he was trying to leave. “I realized after speaking with you today, that you will not be able to follow through with our deal. I wanted to live my last five days free.” 

“I’ll follow through,” says Dean. 

Again, Castiel stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Your bond with your brother will not allow it.” How is it Dean does not understand how his own family impacts his decisions? “My health means a great deal to him. He means a great deal to you, ergo my health means a great deal to you, ergo you will not be able to let me die. This is most likely the reason you’re allowing me to stay in your cabin.” 

Castiel does not know why it took him saying the words out loud for him to understand. Of course that’s the reason Dean is keeping him here. He is mirroring his brother’s kindness. He is both warrior and doctor in the absence of the other Winchester. No wonder Dean seems so confused. 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, and for a second Castiel thinks Dean is going to protest the assessment. Instead he sighs. “Yeah,” says Dean. 

“It’s all right,” says Castiel. “Once I realized you and Dr. Winchester were brothers, I suspected this would be a problem. I understand humans have very strong familial bonds.” His owner had a family once. Occasionally, during quiet moments brought on with the aid of alcohol, his owner would sit in the silo and talk about his family. He would wait for Castiel to respond, or do something he would interpret as an offence, then expel his rage against Castiel. It seemed to comfort his owner and in a bizarre way, that comforted Castiel. It was easier to take the pain that followed knowing he deserved it. 

Sometimes, after he’d exhausted himself, he would sit beside Castiel and cry silently. After those moments, he would not return to the silo for several days. In that time, Castiel would heal, but starve. He felt a twisted sort of joy when his owner would finally come back. 

“And angels don’t?” 

Dean’s question pulls Castiel from his thoughts. What were they talking about? “I don’t know,” answers Castiel. “I was…I…” He has no idea what triggered that train of thought. 

“Sorry,” says Dean. 

“Do you even know what you are apologizing for?” asks Castiel. Dean seems to apologize frequently and with little provocation. Then again, the same could be said of Castiel.

“Uh…” answers Dean. 

Castiel can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “You are very different from other hunters.” 

Dean looks away from him. Castiel isn’t sure what happened, but he took a misstep somewhere. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable again,” says Castiel. 

“No,” says Dean. 

“Yes,” says Castiel. “I don’t know why you insist on denying it.” Dean seems determined to mask his unease. His denial is almost reflexive. Castiel can’t help but wonder what made Dean that way. 

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Ok,” he says. “Yes, I’m uncomfortable. But only because this is new to me and I’m trying not to fuck up.” 

Clearly Dean has no idea that he cannot “fuck up” Castiel. He frowns, then realizes the hunter’s anxiety must again be connected to his family. “Or Bobby will skin you alive,” says Castiel, remembering Dean’s earlier comment. 

Dean laughs, which confirms that the phrase is not meant to be taken seriously. No one would laugh at the threat of being skinned. “Right,” says Dean. “Bobby and Sam both.” 

Castiel decides to ask for confirmation just to be sure. Perhaps Dean is not as mentally stable as he seems. “Presumably that is meant metaphorically and not literally?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“What does it mean?” asks Castiel. “What is the literal interpretation?” 

Dean suddenly goes pale. “Dude,” he says. He seems to struggle with himself for a moment. When he answers, his voice is quiet. “It just means they’d be mad at me.” 

“And as a result of their anger?” asks Castiel. Why the explanation of the phrase bothers Dean is beyond Castiel. 

“They maybe wouldn’t talk to me for a while? I guess it would depend on what I did.” Dean keeps glancing from the floor to Castiel. 

“I think I understand,” says Castiel, nodding slowly. “You are concerned they would be angry then withhold affection.” He wonders if that definition is true for only Dean, or if it applies to all humans. At least he now knows the threat of being “skinned alive” is a metaphor for something unpleasant, but not necessarily bodily harm. 

“Cas, I…” Dean’s voice trails off. He’s still pale. He’s obviously uncomfortable. 

Castiel has no idea what he’s done to trigger this reaction, but his social skills are obviously appalling. He wonders if life in captivity made him this way, or if his owner was right; if he was born an abomination, unfit for this world. 

Castiel grits his teeth as he pushes himself from the bed. “I should go,” he says. Standing was a mistake. Pain blossoms from the fractured bones in his wing and spreads like wildfire through his body. 

Suddenly, he feels arms wrap around him. Castiel is too tired to pull away. A voice whispers to him, calm and steady. 

“Easy, Cas.” 

Castiel has one hand over his eyes, trying to steady himself. He’s dizzy. He feels something nudge his other hand and he realizes he’s gripping Dean’s shirt. 

“Hang onto me for a sec,” says Dean. 

He releases the shirt and moves his arm around Dean’s neck. Dean leads him over to the couch. 

“Can you hang on right here?” asks Dean. 

Castiel nods and leans against the couch, freeing Dean of his weight. 

Dean goes to the bed and begins to disassemble it. He tugs the mattress onto the floor and drags it over to Castiel. Dean then returns to his side and wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist. “Lay on your side with the broken wing up,” says Dean. He lowers Castiel to the floor, supporting the bulk of Castiel’s weight. 

Once Castiel is on his side, Dean crouches next to him. “What hurts?” he asks. 

“It’s just my wing,” says Castiel. A wing should not hurt so much. Broken bones were never so debilitating in the past. “I’m better now,” he continues. “I should go.”

“Cas.” Dean says the nickname like it’s a command. “You’re staying here tonight. I’ll make sure Bobby takes a look at you in the morning, but you don’t need to move anymore. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

Dean’s demeanor has mysteriously changed yet again. At least he does not seem upset any more. 

“Did Sam give you anything for pain?” asks Dean. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “I don’t know what it’s called.” 

“Is it human medicine? Can you take human medicine?” 

Dean may behave like the warrior in his little family, but at the moment, he is all healer. His sudden concern matches that of the doctor. The change is so abrupt and strange that Castiel can’t help but laugh. The fact that Dean is a hunter attempting to heal something he would normally kill just adds to the absurdity of it all. 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You want to let me in on the joke, Cas?” 

“You are helping me,” says Castiel. He’s fully aware that in his current position, grinning up at Dean from the mattress, he must seem like a madman. “This place is full of contradictions.” 

“Is this like, an angel-humor thing?” asks Dean. 

It’s too much to explain. Castiel is suddenly exhausted. “Never mind,” he says. 

Dean leaves and Castiel hears the sound of water running. The hunter returns a moment later with a handful of pills, a glass of water, and the newly dampened cloth.

Dean extends the hand with the pills. “Take this and drink.” 

For a second, all Castiel can focus on are the little pills in the palm of Dean’s hand. He takes a breath, remembers where he is, then props himself up and accepts what he hopes is medicine. 

Dean does not release the glass when Castiel reaches for it and drinks. Castiel assumes he must look as tired as he feels. When he finishes, Dean sets the glass on the floor. 

“Can I see if your head is hot?” asks Dean. 

Castiel nods, only half-listening. He debates asking for more water. 

“I’m going to touch your face,” says Dean. 

Castiel turns his focus from the glass to the hunter. Dean seems very serious. Perhaps he knows this is going to hurt. Perhaps this is will be the punishment. Perhaps Castiel was wrong and Dean is not attempting to heal. It doesn’t matter now, because Castiel does not have the energy to get away. He’s more vulnerable on the floor. Dean probably knows that. 

“I understand,” says Castiel, though he doesn’t really. He closes his eyes and waits. 

He does not flinch when a calloused palm touches his forehead. He can’t help the little swell of pride in his chest. He exhales deeply. Dean’s hand lingers on his forehead, then starts to trail down to his temple. There is no pain. Dean runs his thumb over Castiel’s eyebrow and the movement is surprisingly comforting. 

Castiel sighs. Dean’s hand moves again, fingers roaming through Castiel’s hair and he can’t help but flinch at the change of position. 

Dean pulls his hand back before Castiel can explain. Dean mutters something, heart pounding again and face red. He covers Castiel with a sheet and sets a pile of blankets nearby. He quickly turns off the overhead light, then settles in on the couch. 

Castiel hears the click of the lamp and the cabin is dark. 

“Good night, Cas,” Dean says quietly. 

Whatever was happening before, it’s clearly over now. Castiel sighs. “Good night, Dean.”


	10. Grounded

Cas seems better in the morning. Bobby looks over him and inspects his wings and gives his seal of approval, but Dean calls Sam anyway. After he does his own inspection with Sam’s guidance, he relaxes. He can hear Sam smother a laugh through the phone. 

“What’s so funny?” he demands. Cas laughed at him last night. Bobby laughed at him this morning. Now Sam's laughing too. 

“I’m just picturing you babysitting an angel,” answers Sam, “especially Castiel. You’re both stubborn bastards—throw Bobby into the mix, I’m actually surprised things are going so well.” 

“You’ve only been gone a day,” says Dean. “I think we can handle each other for a while.” 

“How about a week?” asks Sam. “We’re going to try to wrap up the case here and head back over the weekend.”

“Yeah, Doc,” snaps Dean. “We can behave for a week.” 

“You should stay at the house, or let Castiel stay in the cabin again.” 

“That was a one time thing,” says Dean. 

“Then stay in the house.” 

“Why?”

“The house is bigger and it’s easier for Castiel to wander off. I’ll sleep better if I know there are two sets of eyes watching him in the house _or_ if he’s in a smaller space where he can’t hide.” 

“Right. Because that’s not going to make him feel like a prisoner.” 

“I know,” says Sam. He sighs. “This is a tough case. I feel like Castiel has a death-wish and I don’t know how to treat that.” Sam sounds exhausted. 

“He’s not dying on my watch,” says Dean. 

“Thanks. I know this goes against your nature, but I really appreciate your help. It’s—It’s nice to have you on the team.” Sam’s voice is small and quiet on the other line. Dean can’t help but feel like he betrayed his baby brother all those years ago. 

“Well the jokes on me,” says Dean. “Turns out I kinda like helping the guy.” He regrets that as soon as he says it. Was that weird to say? Sam doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t mention it. 

“Just be gentle around him,” says Sam. “Jess talked to him and he won’t say much, but he’s seen some shit.”

“Like what? Anything I should know about?” 

“Hang on.” Sam lowers his voice and Dean can here him shuffling around over the phone. “Sorry. I had to make sure Jess couldn’t hear. She’s big on patient confidentiality. She didn’t tell me what they talked about even though I’m technically his doctor.” 

“So what? We’re all flying blind except for Jess?” 

“I hid a recorder in Castiel’s room and got most of their conversations from last week.” Sam pauses and takes a heavy breath. “I’m going to trust you Dean. I think you and Bobby should know what’s going on since Jess and I aren’t there.” 

Dean laughs. “Sneaking around behind your woman’s back, Sammy?” 

“This is serious,” grumbles Sam. “I’m emailing the files to you. Listen to them, but don’t take notes. Jess will snoop when we get back up there. She already knows I don’t like that she’s keeping this case secret.” 

“Have you listened to the recordings?” 

“Not yet. I haven’t been able to get away from her. I might not get a chance to hear them. I’m going to delete these tomorrow. If there’s anything on there I need to know, don’t text me. Call.” 

“Got it. Don’t leave a paper trail for the missus.” 

“Yeah, and don’t forward the email to Bobby. He’s got a bad habit of leaving his computer open. Just play them for him.” 

“Play them from my laptop?” asks Dean. He could use his phone, but he’d rather have his computer back. 

“Yeah.” 

“You mean the laptop you hid?” 

“Oh—shit—yeah that laptop. I’ll tell Bobby to give it back.” 

“You could just tell me where it is.” 

Sam snorts. “I’m not going to give up my hiding places.” 

Dean grins. Sam probably hid all of his stuff in one place instead of scattering it. Amateur. “All right Sammy. I’ll wait for your email.” 

“Thanks. Talk to you later, jerk.” 

“Later, bitch.” 

 

xxx

 

Bobby delivers Dean’s laptop and they agree to listen to the recordings in shifts so one of them can keep an ear out for Cas. 

“You can have the first go,” says Bobby. “I’m gonna take the kid out back let him get some fresh air. Maybe that’ll make him feel better.” 

Dean smirks to himself. Bobby isn’t that old, but everyone younger than him is _kid_ , _son, missy, young lady, boy_ , or _junior_. “Good luck with that,” says Dean. 

“Before I forget,” says Bobby, “are you moving up to the house, or do you want me to set you and Castiel up in a bigger cabin?” 

Dean can feel his face burning. “I—you don’t—he’s—uh—what?” 

“Sam wants him under close supervision. I’ve got cases to manage and hunters to distract. I could take time off to babysit, but since you’re here you might as well pull your weight.” Bobby crosses his arms, daring Dean to argue. 

“Oh.” Dean tries to relax. Dammit Sam. “I’ll come up to the house.” 

“Good. You can take the room next to Castiel. I put some of your stuff up there already. You’ve got all your necessities, but you’re not getting your knives, guns, or acid back.” 

“Not ever?” whines Dean. Logically, he knows Bobby can’t stop him from tearing the place apart trying to retrieve his things. But Bobby knows all he has to do is put his foot down and Dean will obey. 

“Not until I see you have a conversation with that angel without throwing a hissy fit.” 

“He stayed with me all night last night and I didn’t throw a hissy fit!” 

“Doesn’t count until I see it,” says Bobby. He tosses Dean a pair of earbuds and turns on his heels to fetch Cas from his room upstairs. 

Dean huffs, indignant. He’s the donkey, his weapons are the carrot, and Bobby and Sam both know it. Dean heads back to his cabin to pack and listen to the recordings in seclusion. 

He locks the cabin door. He doesn’t know why. He sets up on the couch, pops in the earbuds and hits play. The room is white noise for a while. He hears Jessica’s voice first. 

 _“May I come in?” she asks._

_Castiel grunts. The door creaks, then clicks shut._

_“Thank you,” she says. “I’m Doctor Jessica Winchester. You can call me Jess, if you’d like. I’m a psychiatrist. I’m here to find out how we can make sure you are comfortable while you are with us.”_

_“I am comfortable,” says Castiel._

_A pause._

_"You should know," says Jess, "all of our conversations are completely confidential. I won't share anything without your permission."_

_Castiel snorts._

_“May I sit?” asks Jess._

_“You do not need to ask my permission," says Castiel. "This is not my home.”_

_“This is your space,” she says. “As far as we are concerned nothing can happen in this room without your permission.”_

_“So,” says Castiel, “if I were to break that window and leap out, you could not stop me without my permission.”_

_Another pause. Longer this time._

_“I would not stop you if that’s what you really wanted to do,” she says._

_Castiel snorts. “Liar.”_

_“I know you were a prisoner before. I know you don’t expect to be treated fairly. I know you don’t want to be here, but please understand; we’re not trying to cause you more pain. We just want to help.”_

_Castiel doesn’t respond._

_“If we let you leave,” says Jess, “the hunter who kidnapped you could find you again. You’re injured. You might not be able to get away. And if another hunter finds you, they will kill you. Please understand.”_

_“I am not an animal,” growls Castiel. “I understand you are making decisions ‘for my own good’ despite my wishes.”_

_Jessica sighs. “How about we just talk?”_

_“We’ve talked enough.”_

After another minute or two of silence, Dean hears Jessica get up and leave. He listens until he hears Sam come in to check on Cas. The angel doesn’t say anything. Sam says his wounds are healing as he expected. The recording ends. There are seven recordings total. Session five is longer than the others. Dean skips to it.

 _Someone knocks on the door._

_“Come in,” calls Castiel._

_“Do you have time to talk?” asks Jess. The door shuffles opens, then clicks shut._

_Castiel huffs. “As if I have a choice in the matter.”_

_“You can ask me to leave,” says Jess._

_“You will come back later.”_

_“You don’t want me to come back?”_

_“It doesn’t matter.”_

_A pause. Jess must be thinking, strategizing. Castiel breaks first._

_“If I answer your questions, will you stop coming back?” he asks._

_“Yes,” she answers. “If that’s what you want.”_

_“All right. Then I will answer your questions.”_

_“I want to know your history,” says Jess. “You can start wherever you feel comfortable.”_

_“You want to know the worst of what’s happened to me so you can find out how damaged I am.”_

_“I want to know whatever you will tell me. You can tell me only the good memories, if that makes you more comfortable.”_

_Someone sighs._

_“Giving birth to me killed my mother,” says Castiel. “She was human. I never knew her. My father was an angel. His wings are mounted above my owner’s bed. My owner is a human. Presumably he was away when your husband and his friend found me.” Castiel pauses. The room is silent. “I believe he was keeping me to breed with—with someone else. He—I suspect,” Castiel’s voice shakes slightly, “I suspect, if he was gone long enough for Dr. Winchester and Mr. Singer to find me, that he was out hunting. It’s possible he has someone else trapped. I would like to—I need—” His voice breaks and the room is quiet again._

_Finally, Jess speaks. “May I sit beside you?”_

_Apparently Castiel agrees. There is a shuffling noise followed by footsteps. The room is quiet for several minutes._

_“He will hurt her,” Castiel says quietly._

_“Who will he hurt?” asks Jess._

_“I don’t know.”_

_Their voices are softer now, harder to hear._

_“Is that why you tried to escape?” asks Jess. “You want to go back—to see if he’s captured someone else?”_

_Castiel doesn’t answer._

_“You want to save them?”_

_Silence is followed by whispers. After a while Castiel can be heard again._

_“I am the only one of my kind,” he says. “Or at least, the only one known to my owner. Without me, he cannot force another angel to breed.”_

_“You know that’s not true,” says Jess. “If this is his plan, your absence won’t stop him. He’ll find another way.”_

_“I don’t understand why you care,” says Castiel. “I don’t understand this place.”_

_“We believe you are equal to us,” says Jess. “You are not an object here.”_

_“I’d like to stop talking now,” says Castiel. The bite is gone from his voice. He sounds small, tired._

_Silence, followed by footsteps, followed by the door closing._

Dean hurries to play the next sessions. True to her word, Jess doesn’t make Cas talk. She doesn’t knock on the door. Dean doesn’t know what she did instead. Sam obviously thought she was talking to Cas. He plays the other sessions he skipped, but they all go about the same as the first. The only real information is in session five. 

His skin itches. Cas didn’t want to talk and he certainly didn’t want anyone other than Jess to listen. Jess and Dean are the only people with a copy of the sessions, or they will be once Sam deletes his copy. Dean’s finger hovers over the delete button. He chews his bottom lip, then clicks. He’ll make up an excuse. He’ll say it was an accident. Bobby won’t be mad, just annoyed. 

Dean shuts his computer, finishes collecting his things, and heads up to the house. 

xxx

 

“You want to take over?” asks Bobby. He’s leaning against the fence that surrounds what use to be a pasture. Castiel is standing about fifteen yards away, good wing outstretched with the wind blowing through his feathers. 

“You got somewhere to be?” asks Dean. 

“Phone’s been ringing off the hook all day,” answers Bobby. “I can’t talk and watch him and look shit up at the same time.” 

“What exactly do you do all day?” asks Dean. Bobby has a reputation in the hunting world. He’s a human search engine for all things supernatural. But clearly Bobby doesn’t hunt and Sam wouldn’t let him help other hunters. 

“I keep people like you from killing people like him,” says Bobby, pointing to Cas. 

Dean crosses his arms. “And nobody’s figured out you’re in the rescue business?” 

“You going to watch him or not?” asks Bobby. 

So much for that conversation. “I’ll watch him,” says Dean. He glances to Cas, then lowers his voice. “About that email from Sammy—the one with Jess’ sessions—I fucked up.” 

Bobby raises an eyebrow. 

“I meant to save it, but I deleted it instead.” 

Bobby relaxes. “Just give me the highlights later.”

Dean nods. “Will do.” A thought crosses his mind—a bit of information that has been conspicuously absent since he arrived. “Hey, what’s the name of the guy who was holding Castiel?” He’s praying he doesn’t recognize it.

“We don’t have a name,” answers Bobby. “He kept a ton of records on Castiel but no personal information, and believe me we tore the place apart looking.” 

“Did you get a description from Castiel?” asks Dean. 

“Of course we did.” 

“Any distinguishing features?” 

Bobby scowls and turns, putting his full focus on Dean. He sighs. “You know I love you, and Sam loves you, and Jess loves you. We’re all happy you’re coming around and we’re happy to have you back.” 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “But?” 

“But I know we’re working against a lifetime of training and it’s not going to be undone in a week.” 

“You don’t trust me,” finishes Dean. 

“I trust you 80 percent,” says Bobby. “But 20 percent of me is worried that you're just playing good-dog-Rover, and if I tell you the little bit we do know about that hunter, you’ll track him down and tell him where he can find his angel.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” says Dean. He hopes it’s the truth. 

“That’s what Sam said. But I’d rather be safe than sorry,” says Bobby. “I know the truth hurts, but I figure you have a right to know why I’m keeping you in the dark.” 

Dean doesn’t respond. He turns away and leans against the fence. 

Bobby sighs, then goes back up to the house leaving Dean and Cas alone. The angel stands in the field, oblivious to the shift change. The others are right not to trust Dean completely. He knows he needs to convince them.

Cas finally glances over his shoulder and he jumps when he sees Dean. 

“Bobby had work to do,” says Dean. “You can keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. I’m just here to make sure you don’t take off.” 

Castiel watches him, head tilted to the side. Dean starts walking forward. He can’t help it. He's compelled to do stupid things when he sees the angel. Cas doesn’t back away as he approaches. 

“I’d leave you alone, but I—” He stops himself. _I know you’ll go back._

“You are not allowed to leave me alone,” says Castiel. “Mr. Sin—Bobby—said you have one damn job around here and you’re going to do it, or so help him.” 

Dean laughs. “That sounds like Bobby.”

Cas frowns. “It should sound like Bobby. I was directly quoting him.” 

Dean laughs again. “It’s an expression, Cas. Never mind. Point is, I’ve got to keep an eye on you.” 

“Your expressions are confusing.” 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep the expressions to a minimum.” 

Cas’ wings twitch, the injured one has healed enough that he has regained some flexibility. “Thank you for sharing your residence with me last night.” 

Dean looks to the ground and scratches the back of his head. “Welcome.” 

“Bobby said he was—I am paraphrasing—he said it was rare for you to share anything with anyone other than Dr. Win—Sam.” 

Dean’s not making eye contact, but he can still feel the look Cas is giving him. 

“Bobby also said—again, I am paraphrasing—” 

“You don’t have to always say when you’re paraphrasing,” says Dean. He looks up. It’s a mistake. Cas’ gaze is locked onto him. 

“He said you are going to stay in the house now,” Cas finishes. 

“I am,” says Dean. “Moved my stuff into the room beside you. Bobby’s orders.” He adds the last part hastily. 

“Bobby is not your owner nor is he your father. He is not related to you by blood in anyway, correct? And yet you obey him.” 

“He’s—I guess—yeah it’s weird,” says Dean. 

Cas nods and logs that away into whatever mental record he’s keeping. “Another issue. You are the only one to call me ‘Cas.’ This is a sign of friendship, correct? The others are not my friends?” 

“No,” answers Dean quickly. “They’re your friends. Nicknames usually mean friendship, but not all friends give each other nicknames.”

 Cas seems to log that away as well. “Should I give you a nickname?” 

“No. There aren’t really any nicknames for Dean.”

“What are the criteria for a nickname?” 

Dean sighs and maybe it’s a little more exaggerated than necessary. He gives Cas his best explanation, and that inevitably leads to another question. At some point, Dean sits and Cas follows suit. They spend the rest of the day in the grass with Dean explaining humanity’s idiosyncrasies to the angel. 

Bobby calls them inside for dinner around sunset. Cas is quieter while they eat. Bobby and Dean discuss cases. It’s not long after that when Cas excuses himself and goes up to his room. When he’s out of earshot, Bobby mentions the email. 

“Anything in those recordings I need to know about?” asks Bobby. 

Dean shrugs. “Not really. It’s mostly just Jess begging Cas to talk about his feelings and Cas being a dick. He did say he thought that hunter was trying to breed angels or something.” 

“Yeah,” says Bobby. “Sam and I figured as much. We found a bunch of lore in the house. We raided his notes on angels and demons. He’s a real nut job.” Bobby leans around and checks for Cas again. “Did Castiel mention anything about wings? Bastard had a pair hanging like a trophy in the bedroom.”

Dean bites his lip. “No,” he answers. How many feathers has he collected? He’s feeling sick again. He must look sick too because Bobby notices. 

“You ok, boy? You look a little green around the gills.” 

“I’m good.” 

Bobby grunts. “You want to talk about it?” Then he shakes his head immediately. “Stupid question. Of course you don’t. Can’t get Sam to talk when something’s wrong with him either. Sometimes I don’t know if you two are more John or Mary.” 

Dean inhales sharply at the mention of his mother’s name. That doesn’t go unnoticed either.

Bobby gets up from his chair and sits in the one next to Dean. He puts a hand on his shoulder. 

Dean does _not_ want to do this right now. 

“You don’t have to talk to me about it,” says Bobby. “Sam thinks it’d be good if you talked to Jess. I don’t care who it is, but you should talk to somebody.” 

Dean manages to keep his mouth shut. He takes a drink from his beer. Bobby takes that for the signal it is. He claps Dean on the shoulder one more time, stands, then leaves without another word.

Dean drains his beer and when that fails to wash the taste of murder and shame from his mouth, he chases it with something stronger. He’s feeling it now. With any luck, he’ll get some sleep tonight. 

For the second night in a row, Castiel pulls Dean from his sleep. It’s a quarter past one in the morning when the screaming starts. Dean’s out of bed with a knife in his hand when the second scream ghosts through the walls. He shoves the door to Cas’ room open, prepared to attack. 

His mattress is on the floor. The angel is a thrashing mess of limbs, wings, and blankets. It takes Dean a second to realize Cas is still asleep and another second to recognize this is a nightmare.

Dean sets his knife down and attempts to restrain the angel. “Wake up, Cas.” He pulls the blankets off then struggles to grab his wrists and hold him down. Cas has rolled over onto his broken wing. Dean pushes Cas’ body into the bed, then takes advantage of the momentary lack of kicking to flip the angel onto his stomach, freeing both wings. Dean pins both of Cas’ wrists beside his head and wedges his knee into his back between his wings. “Hold still, dammit!” He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he hears a startled gasp beneath him. 

Dean lets go and throws himself off of the angel. He backs away until he hits a wall and he slides down. It was a reflex. The kill position is the only way he knows to restrain an angel. 

Cas is still lying on his stomach against the mattress. Dean can see the whites of his eyes peeking through the sweat-matted hair on his forehead. Cas doesn’t move. 

Dean waits for Bobby to come. Surely he heard the screams. When no one busts through the door, Dean takes several deep breaths. He’s on his own. This is his job. He’s shaking as he pushes himself to his feet. Cas watches him, then closes his eyes when Dean gets closer. 

Dean kneels by the mattress so he’s closer to the angel. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over the back of Cas’ hand. The angel tenses. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Cas keeps his head down and doesn’t open his eyes.

Dean lets his whole hand rest over Castiel’s. “Cas?” he says. “You with me?” 

Cas opens his eyes slowly. He’s scowling. 

“I fucked up,” says Dean. “I shouldn’t have pinned you like that.” Something about the way Castiel is looking at him makes him want to keep talking. “I forgot what I was doing for a second. I just wanted you to stop. I thought you might hurt your wing.” His voice catches in his throat. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, Cas.” 

Cas pulls his hand out from underneath Dean’s. He lifts his head just enough to cross his arms as a prop, and turns away. 

Dean’s a fuck up. How far back did he just set Cas? How much of everyone else’s hard work did he just undo? He wants to tell Castiel about the recordings; that he knows some of what Cas has been through. He wants Cas to know he understands what he did wrong and that he knows it must have triggered some awful memories. He wants to beg Cas to forgive him and prove he knows better than to hurt him. 

He can’t do any of that. He can’t tell Cas that Sam taped his sessions with Jess. He can’t undermine Sam’s relationship like that. He can’t say he knows better than to hurt the angel, because clearly he doesn’t.

Fight. Restrain. Kill. He’s hardwired that way. He’s a monster. He can’t watch Cas. He can’t be trusted with an angel. He can’t live this life. What was Sam thinking? Dean’s only good for hunting. He can’t help people like Sam. He’s not good like Sam. 

He pulls away from the bed and stands. He leaves without another word to Cas. He retreats to his room. His bag is still mostly packed. He’s only realizing now that Sam and Bobby were trying to rehabilitate him as much as they were Cas. They’ve been patiently waiting for Dean to come around for over a decade. Dean let them both down and now he’s going to leave again. 

He zips up his duffle, grabs his keys and heads downstairs. He practically jogs to the Impala, but comes to a halt when he hears a shotgun click behind him. 

“Get back in this goddamn house or so help me, I’ll blow a hole the size of Texas though the hood of that goddamn car.” 

Dean turns slowly to see Bobby pointing a shotgun at the Impala. 

“Get your ass back inside. The three of us are going to have a nice long talk, I don’t care if it really does kill you.” 

Dean makes his way back to the house. He’s breathing too hard. He needs to calm down. Maybe Bobby knows that. 

Bobby yanks his keys from his hand as he passes. “Biggest mistake I ever made was letting John leave with you,” mutters Bobby. “I’ll be a goddamn fool to make that mistake again.” When they get inside, he shakes Dean’s car keys. “These are going in my safe with the rest of your shit. You want your stuff back, you can behave or you can be a dumbass and try to steal it. Either way, you have to go through me.” Bobby stomps out of the room. 

Dean hears Bobby open his safe then slam it shut. He sets his duffle bag on the ground and sits on the couch. Of course his stuff is in Bobby’s safe. He suspected as much. It’s the one place he’d never dare to look.

When Bobby comes back, he’s mercifully unarmed. “I’m going to get Castiel. Stay put.” He storms upstairs. 

Dean’s lost all higher brain function. Bobby returns with Castiel begrudgingly trailing behind him. He can’t help but notice Bobby isn’t nearly as gruff with Cas. 

Bobby pulls up a stool and gestures. Castiel takes a seat. Bobby positions himself so he’s between the two of them. “Now,” he says, “what happened? Castiel won’t talk and Dean’s trying to run away. Somebody explain.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“It’s my fault,” says Dean. Bobby should know the truth before he commits to keeping Dean here. “Cas was having a nightmare. He was kind of flailing. I wanted him to stop. I got him in a kill position and he woke up.”

“Ok,” says Bobby. “Version one. Castiel, what’s version two?” 

Cas clenches his jaw, but he answers. “I had a nightmare. I cannot speak to my behavior while I was unconscious, but I am sure I was violent. I usually am. I awoke and Dean was restraining me.” 

“Is anybody hurt?” asks Bobby. 

Castiel and Dean answer “no” in unison.

“Are you two mad at anybody besides me?” asks Bobby. 

“No,” answers Castiel. 

In his surprise, Dean forgets to answer. 

“Dean?” asks Bobby. “You mad?” 

“No,” answers Dean. “But Cas, I thought—” 

“I am ashamed of my behavior,” says Castiel. “I dislocated your brother’s shoulder during a similar fit. You were right to restrain me. I could have hurt you.” 

“But I thought—you wouldn’t talk. I thought you were pissed.” 

“I was not myself in that moment. Forgive me.” 

Dean sees a flash of emotion creeping just below the surface of Castiel’s calm exterior. 

“All right,” says Bobby. “Ground rules. Rule one, Dean, hands to yourself. Don’t touch Castiel without his permission; I don’t care how much you think you’re helping. Rule two, Castiel, something bad happens, or if there’s something you don’t like, come get me. Don’t stew.” Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose. “Actually, let’s make that rule three and that goes for both of you. No stewing. You two are going to have to use your goddamn words. Rule four,” Bobby takes a breath, “again, this is for both of you, no running away. You’re both grounded. Castiel, I want to be clear about this. You are _not_ a prisoner. You _are_ grounded.” 

“What’s the difference?” mutters Dean. 

Bobby glares at him. “I’m not a warden.” 

Castiel clears his throat. “Per Rule Two, I wish to report this conversation as something I do not like.” 

Dean snickers, though he’s not sure whether or not Cas is joking. 

“Noted,” says Bobby. “I don’t think anybody likes this. You still have to sit through it.” 

Dean’s well practiced in the art of shoving his feelings down. He’s already kicked the process into high gear. He knows where this is going next. 

Bobby’s eyeing him. “Why’d you try to run?” 

“If we’re going to do this, I need a drink,” says Dean. 

“Good luck,” says Bobby. “I got rid of all the booze after you went to bed.” 

“All of it?” asks Dean, horrified.

“All of it. You’re going to do this sober. Why’d you try to run?” 

“Cas had a nightmare and I went from comfort to kill like that,” spits Dean, snapping his fingers. “You and Sam and Jess have a good thing going here and I’m not somebody you need hanging around.” 

Bobby, for a split second, looks genuinely upset, but he quickly fades back to surly and unmoved. “It’s going to take a while to undo all the shit your daddy put you through,” says Bobby. “He conditioned you to be his sidekick so you could help him hunt. He was going to do the same to Sam. I should have made you stay with me. I should have raised you both, but I thought you two should have a choice. I see now, that was stupid on my part.” 

“I wanted to go,” mutters Dean. His eyes are stinging. He can’t start crying in front of them. He needs to calm down.

“I know,” said Bobby. “I respected that. I shouldn’t have. I should have put my foot down. What happened to you is my fault, not yours.” 

Dean doesn’t argue. He can’t trust his voice not to crack. He hates doing this in front of Castiel. He would have talked to Bobby alone when he had the chance if he’d known this was the alternative. 

“You both need to detox,” says Bobby. “Dean, you need to detox in more ways than one.” He runs a hand over his beard. He only does that when he’s feeling frayed. He’s still looking at Dean. “I don’t want you to make an exception for Castiel,” he says slowly. “Sam and I have wanted you to help us for a long time. We could use your expertise. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to try to change you.” 

Dean focuses on a spot on the floor. He’s a project—a cause for his brother to champion. 

“You are making Dean uncomfortable,” says Cas. 

Dean’s surprised enough that he turns his attention from the floor to the angel. 

“I’m aware,” says Bobby. 

“I am uncomfortable as well.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t like this,” says Cas.

At that, Bobby begrudgingly surrenders. “Ok,” he says, raising his hands. “Enough for tonight. You two going to be all right until the morning?” 

“I’ll be better once you stop talking,” says Dean, smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

Bobby rolls his eyes. “All right, jackass. You’re both dismissed.” 

Dean doesn’t linger. He goes straight to his room. Cas is close behind him. When they reach the top of the stairs, Dean jerks his head towards his bedroom and motions for Cas to follow. He shuts the door behind them. 

“I’m not going to talk forever, like Bobby,” says Dean. “I just wanted to thank you for—thanks for ending that, I guess.”

“I believe I understand your relationship with him now,” says Cas. “He fills the position of the mother in your family.”

Dean’s got nothing to say back to that, because what?

“He is of course, not your mother,” Cas continues, “nor is he female. But since my arrival, I’ve heard your father mentioned, but never your mother. She is missing. Bobby takes her place as the protector and guardian of you and Sam.” 

“That’s,” begins Dean, “hell, that’s accurate. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

Castiel nods like he’s not at all surprised he’s right. 

“I’m sorry for what I did earlier,” says Dean. “I know you told Bobby you weren’t ma—” 

“I’m not angry,” says Cas. “I was startled.” He takes a breath and suddenly it's like he can’t look at Dean anymore. “I was afraid.” 

“I know,” says Dean. He takes a step closer, remembers Rule One, and steps back. “There are better ways to stop a nightmare. I just—I suck at this.” 

“I was not afraid of you,” says Cas. “I am stronger than you, even injured. I simply forgot myself for a moment.” Cas has the same disappointed look on his face as he did in the cabin the night before. 

Dean senses he should change the subject. “How often do you have nightmares?” 

“Every night,” answers Cas, “with the exception of last night.” 

Dean lets that information sink in. “I get nightmares too,” he says, “but I didn’t get them last night.” 

Cas’ jaw twitches. “I will let you sleep. Good night, Dean.” He turns on his heels and leaves before Dean can answer. 

“Night, Cas,” mutters Dean.


	11. Bone dry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated 9/10/16

Castiel stands with his feet squared beneath his shoulders. The sun is warm and the grass tickles against his ankles. Bobby is somewhere behind him, the distance between them growing greater with every breath as he counts. 

He listens to the wind in the trees that surround the field. A bird sings somewhere above him. It breaks his concentration. He begins counting again. It’s easier this time. He drifts away. The world quiets. He stares ahead, but does not see the mountains obscuring the horizon. He can’t tell if the clouds are moving. He’s far away, safe. He’s in control again. His skills are rusty, but the fact that he can still reach this mental calm is reassuring. 

Time passes; he knows because the sun is in a different position than it was when his trance began. Castiel isn’t sure what brought him back to reality. Something changed. There is a new smell in the air, a different heartbeat behind him. 

Castiel turns and is startled when he sees Dean instead of Bobby. 

“Bobby had work to do,” says Dean. “You can keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. I’m just here to make sure you don’t take off.” 

How long has he been standing there? Before he can voice the questions, Dean approaches. He’s watching Castiel as though he isn’t fully aware of his movements. 

“I’d leave you alone,” says Dean, “but I—” He stops short of finishing his sentence. 

“You are not allowed to leave me alone,” offers Castiel. “Mr. Sin—Bobby—said you have one damn job around here and you’re going to do it, or so help him.” 

Bobby made two things very clear this morning. One, Castiel should not address him as Mr. Singer because no one else does and it is weird when Castiel does it. He also said to call Sam, Sam because that’s his name. He’d said, “You call Dean, Dean, don’t you?” That turned out to be a rhetorical question. Two, Dean is on his best behavior and Bobby will make sure he stays that way; though Castiel still isn’t entirely sure what that means. 

Dean laughs. “That sounds like Bobby.” 

“It should sound like Bobby,” says Castiel. “I was directly quoting him.” He wonders if he misspoke. 

Dean laughs again. It’s a strangely comforting sound. “It’s an expression, Cas. Never mind. Point is, I’ve got to keep an eye on you.” 

Of course Dean was using an expression. 

“Your expressions are confusion,” says Castiel. 

“I know,” says Dean. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep the expressions to a minimum.”

Dean seems sincerely sorry for the confusion. Something like guilt passes over his face. 

Castiel wonders if Dean lives constantly on the edge of an apology. He can’t remember how many times the hunter apologized last night, but it was certainly more than what was necessary. Dean really should never apologize to Castiel. In terms of class and rank, Dean is above him. Dean can say whatever he wants. 

Castiel feels his wings twitch like he’s a child and cannot control them. He decides to change his train of thought. “Thank you for sharing your residence with me last night.” 

Dean shifts his focus to the ground, face flushing pink. “Welcome,” he mutters. 

“Bobby said it was—I am paraphrasing—he said it was rare for you to share anything with anyone other than Dr. Win—Sam.” 

Dean does not look up from the ground. Castiel feels a bizarre desire to regain his attention. 

“Bobby also said—again, I am paraphrasing—” 

“You don’t have to always say when you’re paraphrasing,” says Dean, looking up. 

Castiel takes a moment to revel in his success. He’s careful not to let his wings reflect his joy. “He said you are going to stay in the house now.”

Dean’s face is bright red, but Castiel does not point it out. The hunter did not seem to like it when Castiel mentioned it last night. 

“I am,” says Dean. “Moved my stuff into the room beside you. Bobby’s orders.” 

Bobby does give Dean orders. Castiel has witnessed it. He also gives Sam and Jess orders. They respect him as one would respect a commander, but they do not always behave like his subordinates. Castiel can’t help himself. Curiosity gets the better of him. 

“Bobby is not your owner, nor is he your father. He is not related to you by blood in any way, correct? And yet you obey him.”

Dean frowns. “He’s—I guess—yeah, it’s weird.” 

Castiel accepts that as the only explanation he is going to get. He wonders if he should mirror Dean’s behavior around Bobby. Though Bobby does not treat Castiel the same way he treats Dean. He’s not sure if this is because of their relationship or because Castiel is a different species. “Another issue,” he begins. “You are the only one to call me ‘Cas.’ This is a sign of friendship, correct? The others are not my friends?” 

“No,” answers Dean quickly. “They’re your friends. Nicknames usually mean friendship, but not all friends give each other nicknames.” 

So nicknames are not an absolute. Bobby may never refer to him as “Cas.” Castiel nods to himself. “Should I give you a nickname?” he asks. His name was shortened on the first syllable to create the nickname. He’s not sure how to shorten a one-syllable name.

“No,” he answers. “There aren’t really any nicknames for Dean.”

“What are the criteria for a nickname?” asks Castiel. He wonders if “Bobby” and “Sam” and “Jess” are also nicknames. 

Dean sighs and Castiel almost tells him to forget the question. 

“There aren’t any criteria,” says Dean. 

Castiel frowns because how can one establish a nickname if there are no criteria? 

Dean answers like he can read Castiel’s mind. “It’s complicated,” he says. “Sometimes it’s just a shortened version of a name, sometimes it’s based on the way somebody acts. There are a lot of—um—variables, I guess.” 

“Do all humans do this, or is it limited to the humans in your family?” asks Castiel. 

“I don’t know about _all_ humans,” answers Dean, “but _a lot_ of humans use nicknames. It’s not just us.” 

Just as Castiel begins to form his next question about the names of Dean’s family members, Dean answers. 

“We do use nicknames though,” says Dean. “Sam is short for Samuel. Jess is short for Jessica. Bobby is short for Bob, which is short for Robert.” 

Castiel is immediately confused. But, instead of having to ask, he just frowns and Dean explains. 

“I know Bob is shorter than Bobby,” says Dean. “I guess ‘short for’ is another expression. Maybe. Maybe I’m just using it wrong.” He scratches the back of his head. “I’m not a great example of typical human behavior.”

“Your behavior is fascinating, though,” says Castiel. He wonders if Dean is fully human. He seems to possess a mind-reading ability. Then again, maybe Castiel is just easy to read. 

Dean’s face flushes pink. He mutters something. 

“What do you do that is not ‘typical human behavior’?” asks Castiel. 

Dean sighs and sits in the grass. Dean motions for Castiel to do the same, so he does. 

Dean begins explaining “manners” and how he has none, but Sam does. Castiel cannot help but inquire further. He keeps Dean talking until the sun begins to set. He voices less than half his questions, but Dean answers all of them; knowingly or unknowingly is still debatable.

 

xxx

 

During dinner, Bobby and Dean discuss hunting. Dean is insistent that Bobby should disclose his “trade secrets.” Bobby shares nothing. Instead, he dismisses Dean’s questions, and gets up to refill his drink. He takes Castiel’s glass with him. 

“I don’t get how everyone knows what Sam does, but no one knows what you do,” says Dean. 

“I don’t answer stupid questions,” grunts Bobby. “Just like I’m doing with you right now.”

Dean rolls his eyes. 

Bobby returns to the table and hands Castiel his glass rather than setting it down. When Castiel reaches for it, he realizes why. There is a small note attached to the side of it, concealed first by Bobby’s hand and now his own. 

Castiel waits until Dean isn’t looking, then takes the note and unfolds it in his lap below the lip of the table. It’s written in Bobby’s scrawling handwriting. 

 

_When you’re finished eating, go to Dean’s cabin and bring back all the alcohol you can find. I’ll keep Dean busy. I think he brought most of it with him, but he’s probably got a few hiding places in the cabin. Turn the hallway light off, then back on when you’re done. I can see it from where I’m sitting. Take whatever you find back to your room. I’ll get it from you later._

 

Castiel frowns at the note and looks up at Bobby. If Bobby’s accounts of Dean’s drinking are any indication, then Dean drinks alcohol like Castiel counts his breaths. 

Bobby is deliberately not meeting his gaze. 

Castiel sighs, just loud enough for Bobby to understand that this is not something he wants to do, then excuses himself from the table. He leaves the hunters arguing over past cases, and goes outside instead of to his room. 

This is a thinly veiled test of his trust. Bobby trusts Castiel not to attempt another escape. If Castiel wants to continue to enjoy the freedoms he has here, he will comply. He does not want to be locked in the recovery room like he was during his first week here. 

Castiel huffs, though no one is around to react to his displeasure. He decides to distract himself by turning this into an exercise in speed. He was very fast when he was younger. He wonders if his body remembers. 

Five minutes later, he’s back in the house standing at the top of the stairs, panting. He has several bottles of alcohol in one arm. He flicks the light switch with his free hand. If his wing were healed, he would have been faster. 

He leaves the bottles in the corner of his room by the door. He covers them with a towel in the event Dean enters the room on his way to bed. 

Several minutes later, he hears the door to the neighboring room click shut. He sits on the edge of his bed and waits. 

It’s an hour before Bobby comes to his room. Castiel hears him go to Dean’s room first; presumably to make sure the hunter is asleep. He enters Castiel’s room and takes a sharp inhale, startled. 

“I thought you’d be asleep,” hisses Bobby. 

“I was waiting for you,” answers Castiel. Wasn’t that part of his mission? 

Bobby glances at the towel in the corner. “That it?” he asks. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “You were correct. He was hiding alcohol.” 

“Where?” asks Bobby. 

Castiel frowns. Logically, he is not betraying Dean by telling Bobby his secrets. He has no loyalty to Dean. It shouldn’t bother him that Bobby is using him to violate Dean’s privacy. “In a small cabinet above the sink.” 

He’s never been a good liar. There was no alcohol in the cabin. Dean hid his stash in a bag beneath the front porch. It was easy for Castiel to find because he could smell it. 

Bobby does not look convinced, but he doesn’t push Castiel to say more. 

“Since you're up,” says Bobby, “I could use some help clearing out the rest of the house.” 

“Clearing the house?” 

Bobby nods, then stoops to collect Castiel’s bottles. “Yeah. I want this whole place bone dry when he wakes up.” 

“You shouldn’t do that,” says Castiel. He cannot stop himself. 

“I know,” says Bobby. “It’s really gonna piss him off. But I’m not gonna be around forever and I’d like to see him healthy before I kick the bucket.”

“In what way does Dean’s health relate to you assaulting a bucket?” 

“It’s a saying. Means before I die.” Bobby does not wait for Castiel to respond. He walks out of the room leaving the door open behind him. 

Castiel recognizes that as an order masked as an invitation. He sighs again and follows Bobby downstairs. 

There is already a collection of bottles and cans on the kitchen table. Bobby pulls a small metal container from his pocket and adds it to the assortment. It’s Dean’s. Castiel has seen Dean drinking from it. Bobby must have stolen it from Dean’s room. 

“We’ll start in the kitchen,” says Bobby. “Shouldn’t take too long.” 

“What will you do to me if I refuse to assist?’ asks Castiel. 

“I’ll tell you to go back to bed and I’ll ask you to let me be the one to tell Dean his booze is gone,” answers Bobby. He is currently rummaging through a cabinet beside the refrigerator. He pulls out a bag. 

“I mean in terms of punishment,” says Castiel. He wonders if it’s worse to know in advance or to be surprised. 

“Nobody gets punished here,” says Bobby. “I told you that already.” 

“Then what is my motivation for obeying you?” 

Bobby sighs and stops what he’s doing. “You don’t have to obey me,” he says. “You never have to obey me. You should only do what you want to do.” 

That can’t be entirely true. Castiel wants to leave, but he can’t. He isn’t being forced to help Bobby, but Bobby clearly wants him to help. What would he do instead of helping Bobby? If he were not helping in the quest to rid the house of liquor and beer, he’d be upstairs dreading the next round of nightmares. At least this way he is useful. He owes these people that much, doesn’t he? Their kindness should be rewarded. They probably expect it.

He doesn’t respond to Bobby. Instead he goes to the refrigerator and begins pulling out cans of beer. 

It’s well into the evening when they finish. Bobby pours out all of the beer. He takes the liquor and Dean’s flask and locks them away in the large safe in his room. Castiel stands in the doorway and watches him open the safe, taking care to pay attention to the combination. He catches a glimpse of some of Dean’s other belongings. 

Dean knows what it’s like to be trapped. This is most likely the reason he agreed to end Castiel's life. Does Dean have an escape plan? 

Castiel dismisses the thought. Dean is human. He has more rights than Castiel. He could leave if it was what he really wanted. 

Bobby bids him a gruff good night and thanks him for the help. Castiel goes back to his room repeating the combination to the safe in his head. The numbers are firmly engrained in his memory as he pulls his mattress onto the floor. 

He crawls carefully to the center of the mattress and lays on his side. The sheet is soft and warm. He didn’t realize how nice it was to prop his head on a pillow until Dean mad him sleep that way. He pulls the blanket over him and up to his chin. It’s nice, cozy, safe. He closes his eyes and tries to make his muscles soft like the mattress is soft. His limbs are heavy. With every exhale, his body sinks a little deeper into the bed.

 

xxx

 

 _He does not remember going back. He does not remember leaving Bobby’s home. But when he wakes up, he is on the rough dirt floor of his cage instead of the soft mattress in his room._

_He stands and tries to take a step, but finds his foot is shackled to the floor. Both wings are bound with hard leather and pressed tightly against his back._

_A familiar laugh echoes through the silo. Maybe he’ll tell Castiel what he wants this time. Maybe there will be a right answer._

_Castiel can’t see him yet, but he can hear the sound of metal on metal. What tool is that? He can’t remember, but he knows the pain that follows it._

_He tries to call out for Bobby, but his voice catches and he can’t make the words come out._

_Suddenly, his owner is behind him. Castiel lets out a silent shriek as the hunter snaps one of his primary feathers in half, then rips it from his wing._

_Castiel is on his knees. The hunter is speaking, but Castiel can’t hear him. He tries to scream again. He’s exhausted. He’s not as strong as he was at Bobby’s. He doesn’t know when the weakness came creeping back. It’s familiar, suffocating._

_He didn’t deserve all of that strength anyway. He hasn’t earned the right to be strong. What would he do with strength? He’d hurt someone. That’s what monsters do; they hurt, and Castiel is a monster._

_Someone calls his name._

_The hunter snaps another feather and the pain is blinding. He freezes. This is punishment._

_Sometimes, his owner demands that he fight back. His owner wants to be stronger when he goes out on hunts. Castiel is not a good opponent. He is too slow, too reluctant, too tired, too sick._

_Something hits him and he’s pressed face-first into the dirt. The hunter pins Castiel to the ground and shouts for him to be still._

_Castiel obeys. Of course he obeys. He fears pain. He’ll do anything to avoid it. He tries to prepare himself. He breathes._

_The smell is wrong._

_The cage smells sweet and warm. The hunter behind him smells like soap instead of blood and sweat. The hunter calls him Cas._

Castiel’s eyes snap open and he gasps. He is pinned down, but he’s on a mattress. Someone is on top of him. Someone has one knee pressed into Castiel’s back and both hands are white-knuckled against Castiel’s wrists. 

Suddenly, the weight of the other person is gone. The person back away from the mattress and Castiel can see him in the moonlight. It’s the hunter. He has a name, but Castiel can’t remember it. 

He backs away from the mattress until he meets the wall. He slides down to the floor, panting and pale. 

But the hunter does not look injured. He looks upset. Slowly, the hunter braces a shaking hand against the wall. He gets to his feet and approaches Castiel with caution. 

Castiel closes his eyes. He hears slow footsteps on the carpet. Familiar, calloused fingers brush against the back of his hand. Why are those fingers familiar? 

“I’m sorry,” whispers the hunter. 

Castiel waits, unsure of the man at the edge of the mattress. 

The hunter gently holds Castiel’s hand. “Cas?” he asks. “You with me?” 

Castiel frowns. That seems familiar too. He opens his eyes. 

“I fucked up,” says the hunter. “I shouldn’t have pinned you like that.” 

Dean. The man kneeling beside him is Dean. 

“I forgot what I was doing for a second. I just wanted you to stop. I thought you might hurt your wing.” Dean’s voice wavers. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, Cas.” 

That doesn’t make sense. Maybe he is still asleep. This is not a nightmare, but that doesn’t mean the dream is over. He’s dizzy and his skin is too warm. He pulls his hand away from Dean and lays his head against his arms. Maybe he will wake up soon. 

He hears Dean leave. He hears shuffling in the other room. He hears footsteps moving away from him. He does not wake up again. This is not a dream. 

Castiel sits up. He checks his wings. The broken one is bound, but the other is free. He is still at Bobby’s. 

Dean is sorry again. He said he “pinned” Castiel. Dean clearly thought it was a bad thing to do. It wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t hurt. Something about it upset Dean. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe hunters react automatically in certain situations. Dean’s pulse was certainly high enough for him to be prepared for fight or flight. 

He hears shouting. Someone is coming back upstairs. The door to his room opens. 

“You ok?” asks Bobby, switching on the light. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “Where is Dean?” 

“Downstairs,” answers Bobby. “Follow me.”

“I heard shouting. What happened?” 

Bobby doesn’t answer. He turns and leaves the door open again. 

Castiel sighs and follows him. 

Dean is sitting in a chair in the middle of the kitchen, a dazed, vacant expression on his face. 

Bobby pulls a stool next to Dean’s chair and gestures to Castiel. Once they are both seated, Bobby stands facing them. “Now,” he says, “What happened? Castiel won’t talk and Dean’s trying to run away. Somebody explain.” He crosses his arms and waits. 

Dean answers quickly, almost automatically. “It’s my fault,” he says. “Cas was having a nightmare. He was kind of flailing. I wanted him to stop. I got him in a kill position and he woke up.” Dean’s voice is quiet, repentant. 

“Ok,” says Bobby. “Version one. Castiel, what’s version two?” 

Castiel does not know how to answer. Dean’s version was accurate. “I had a nightmare,” he begins. “I cannot speak to my behavior while I was unconscious, but I am sure I was violent. I usually am. I awoke and Dean was restraining me.” He leaves out the part where he momentarily forgot that Dean was not his owner. 

“Is anybody hurt?” asks Bobby. 

Dean answers “no” at the same moment as Castiel. 

“Are you two mad at anybody besides me?” asks Bobby. 

“No,” answers Castiel. 

Dean says nothing. He could be mad. Castiel would not begrudge his anger. After all he’s done to prove he isn’t like other hunters, Castiel forgot him in a moment of panic. Castiel frowns. He is indebted to these people, to Dean. He owes them. Their kindness isn’t free. Kindness is never free. Something like acid sticks in the back of his throat. He is tired of being beholden to humanity. He is tired of paying a price for things he did not ask to receive. 

“Dean?” asks Bobby. “You mad?” 

“No,” answers Dean. “But Cas, I thought—” 

“I am ashamed of my behavior,” says Castiel. That is the appropriate thing to say, isn’t it? Isn’t that what he should feel, shame? “I dislocated your brother’s shoulder during a similar fit. You were right to restrain me. I could have hurt you.” 

“But I thought—you wouldn’t talk. I thought you were pissed.” 

 _I was afraid._  

“I was not myself in that moment,” says Castiel. “Forgive me.” He’s angry, but he doesn’t understand why. He wants to leave. He suddenly finds himself longing for the solitude of his cage. 

“All right,” says Bobby. “Ground rules. Rule one, Dean, hands to yourself. Don’t touch Castiel without his permission; I don’t care how much you think you’re helping.” 

That’s an odd rule, odd enough that it brings Castiel’s attention back to the present. 

“Rule two,” continues Bobby, “Castiel, something bad happens, or if there’s something you don’t like, come get me. Don’t stew.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Actually, let’s make that rule three and that goes for both of you. No stewing. You two are going to have to use your goddamn words. Rule four,” Bobby catches his breath, “again, this is for both of you, no running away. You’re both grounded. Castiel, I want to be clear about this. You are _not_ a prisoner. You _are_ grounded.” 

“What’s the difference?” asks Dean. 

Bobby narrows his eyes. “I’m not a warden.” 

Castiel does not understand the exchange, but he doesn’t dwell on it because Bobby has given him the authority to leave. “Per Rule Two,” he says, “I wish to report this conversation as something I do not like.” 

For some reason, Dean laughs. 

“Noted,” says Bobby. “I don’t think anybody likes this. You still have to sit through it.” 

That does not seem fair. Then again, Bobby is the one who made the rules; he can break them. 

Bobby is watching Dean. “Why’d you try to run?” 

Dean’s heart rate increases. “If we’re going to do this, I need a drink,” he says. 

Castiel flinches. 

“Good luck,” says Bobby. “I got rid of all the booze after you went to bed.” 

Dean goes pale. “All of it?” he asks. 

“All of it,” answers Bobby. “You’re going to do this sober. Why’d you try to run?” 

Castiel feels a sudden urge to explain to Dean that he can count his breaths. 

“Cas had a nightmare and I went from comfort to kill like that,” says Dean, snapping his fingers. His voice is shaky again. “You and Sam and Jess have a good thing going here and I’m not somebody you need hanging around.” 

Castiel watches Dean. He is not mocking Castiel. He seems to be serious. He is taking responsibility for what happened. 

“It’s going to take a while to undo all the shit your daddy put you through,” says Bobby. “He conditioned you to be his sidekick so you could help him hunt. He was going to do the same to Sam. I should have made you stay with me. I should have raised you both, but I thought you two should have a choice. I see now, that was stupid on my part.” 

Dean looks to the ground, submissive or defensive, Castiel isn’t sure. “I wanted to go,” mutters Dean. 

“I know,” says Bobby. “I respected that. I shouldn’t have. I should have put my foot down. What happened to you is my fault, not yours.” 

Dean falls silent. He isn’t looking up. He is obviously uncomfortable. Bobby should not make him do this without his coping mechanism. 

“You both need to detox,” says Bobby. “Dean, you need to detox in more ways than one.” 

Castiel watches for a reaction from Dean, but the hunter only glances up to look at Bobby before returning his gaze to the floor. It’s strange, the way he reacts to Bobby. They are not commander and warrior as Castiel previously thought. Bobby is obviously disrespecting Dean’s boundaries, but not in a cruel way, because the man is not cruel. He is scolding Dean, the way a father would scold a child. But Bobby is not his father. 

“I don’t want you to make an exception for Castiel,” continues Bobby. “Sam and I have wanted you to help us for a long time. We could use your expertise. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to try to change you.” 

“You are making Dean uncomfortable,” says Castiel. Maybe Bobby does not realize what he’s doing. 

Dean looks up. 

“I’m aware,” says Bobby. 

“I am uncomfortable as well,” says Castiel. 

“I know,” says Bobby. He either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care. 

“I don’t like it,” clarifies Castiel. At this point, he’s testing to see if Rule Two will ever be upheld. He needs to know. 

This time, Bobby seems to understand. “Ok,” he says. “Enough for tonight. You two going to be all right until the morning?” 

“I’ll be better once you stop talking,” says Dean. He almost smiles and his voice is steady again. 

Bobby rolls his eyes. “All right, jackass. You’re both dismissed.” 

Dean leaves the kitchen quickly and Castiel follows. He is not as angry as he was before. He’s not sure what he’s feeling now. Dean stops at the top of the stairs and motions for Castiel to follow him. 

Curiosity wins over exhaustion and Castiel follows Dean into his bedroom. He replays the last part of their conversation over in his mind. Castiel has gained privileged insight into Dean’s history. He suspects it will be useful later. 

“I’m not going to talk forever, like Bobby,” says Dean, once the door is shut. He mutters something else. 

“I believe I understand your relationship with him now,” says Castiel slowly. “He fills the position of the mother in your family.”

Dean doesn’t answer so Castiel continues. 

“He is of course, not your mother,” says Castiel, “nor is he female. But since my arrival, I’ve heard your father mentioned, but never your mother. She is missing. Bobby takes her place as the protector and guardian of you and Sam.” Perhaps this is a human trait, caring for young that are not your own. 

“That’s,” begins Dean, “hell, that’s accurate. I’ve never thought of that before.” 

Castiel nods; pleased to have figured out their relationship. It makes their group easier to understand, because they are a family, not a squadron. 

“I’m sorry for what I did earlier,” says Dean. “I know you told Bobby you weren’t m—” 

“I’m not angry,” says Castiel. He wonders how many times Dean will apologize for the same mistake. “I was startled.” 

 _I was afraid._  

Castiel isn’t sure if he said it aloud this time. He suddenly realizes he’s staring at the floor. 

“I know,” says Dean. “There are better ways to stop a nightmare. I just—I suck at this.” 

Castiel said it. He confessed. He’s not sure it that makes it better. “I was not afraid of you,” he clarifies. “I am stronger than you, even injured. I simply forgot myself for a moment.”

 _I forgot where I was, who you were, what I am capable of doing now. I surrendered. I did not fight back._  

That must be it. He didn’t fight back when Dean held him down. For all his newfound strength, all his rage against humanity, he didn’t fight back. He gave up and let it happen. 

“How often do you have nightmares?” asks Dean. 

“Every night,” answers Castiel, “with the exception of last night.” He did not dream last night. 

“I get nightmares too,” says Dean. “But I didn’t get them last night.” 

Strange that their nights of restful sleep would coincide. Did his proximity to Dean bring him peace? He’s never felt peace with a human around, other than those few drunken nights with his owner. Why would he find peace with Dean? 

“I will let you sleep,” says Castiel. “Good night, Dean.” He begins counting and lets himself drift back to his room. He shuts the door and returns to his mattress. He can’t think anymore.


	12. For better or worse

In the morning, Bobby knocks on their doors and sends them into the kitchen for breakfast. There are two sheets of paper on the table between their plates. 

Dean reaches the table first and groans as he picks up the paper. “Chores? Seriously?” he asks. “Are we twelve?” 

Castiel examines the other sheet. It is also labeled “Chores.” He peers over Dean’s shoulder to see if their papers are the same. 

“I’m putting you to work,” says Bobby. 

The papers are identical. 

“I thought my job was watching him,” says Dean, pointing to Castiel. He leans over to inspect Castiel’s paper. 

“You can multitask,” says Bobby. “Coffee?” He offers a mug to each of them. 

They accept. Castiel has come to enjoy coffee, though Sam is better at making it. 

“Cas isn’t ready to do half the shit you have listed,” says Dean. He takes a seat. 

Bobby sets a plate with eggs and meat on the table. 

“I can do all of these tasks,” says Castiel. 

“Sam wouldn’t want you to,” says Dean. 

“That’s why you’re going to help him,” says Bobby. 

Dean mutters something about “free labor.” 

“I could accomplish these faster on my own,” says Castiel. 

“Not if you want to heal on time,” says Dean. 

Castiel doesn’t offer a retort. He doesn’t want to heal. He wants to die. Perhaps Dean is using a code. He is watching Castiel with one eyebrow raised. 

“You want to share something with the class?” asks Bobby. 

“No,” answers Dean. “Just pointing out the obvious.” He spoons eggs onto his plate, then does the same for Castiel. “Say when.” 

“When,” says Castiel.

“No, not like—I mean tell me when you want me to stop putting eggs on your plate.” 

Bobby holds a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to cover his laughter.

“Oh,” says Castiel. “You can stop now—um—when. Stop when?” 

“Close enough,” says Dean. “Want bacon?” 

Castiel nods. He doesn’t ask what “bacon” is to avoid further confusion.

Dean’s face is bright red again. Bobby is grinning down at his plate. They eat breakfast with Dean self-correcting anytime he uses an expression. When they are finished, Bobby sends them away from the house. 

“Want to knock out—er—work on the hardest stuff first?” asks Dean. 

“We don’t have to adhere to a certain order?” asks Castiel. 

Dean leads them through the house and out into the garage. “I don’t know. I doubt it. We’re doing Bobby a favor so he can take it or leave it.” 

“This is a favor?” Castiel frowns at the paper in his hand. 

“Technically, yeah. We don’t _have_ to do his stupid chores.” 

“What would we do instead?” 

Dean is rummaging through a box of tools. “I don’t know. What do you want to do? And don’t say ‘die’ or ‘escape’.” 

“Fly,” says Castiel. 

Dean looks over his shoulder at Castiel. “Fly?” 

“Maybe more than I want to leave.” 

Dean shoves his list of tasks into the pocket of his jeans. He turns and examines Castiel, chewing on his bottom lip. “You can’t fly,” he says. “Not yet. But I think I know something you might enjoy.” He nods to the garage door. “Meet me out back.” 

Intrigued, Castiel does as he’s told. He waits for Dean on the back porch. He hears something like a roar echo across the field. Something large and mechanic is approaching. 

He sees a vehicle pull around the corner of the house. Dean gets out and motions for Castiel to approach. 

“Get in the back,” he says. The back of the vehicle is flat and open. “Just make sure you hang on.” 

Castiel clambers onboard and grips the short sides surrounding the flat part of the vehicle. 

Dean resumes his position behind the steering wheel. He opens a pane of glass behind him that separates the interior of the vehicle from the exterior. “Knock once if you want me to slow down, twice if you want me to speed up. If you want me to stop the truck, just grab my shoulder. I’ll leave the window open.” 

“All right,” says Castiel. He braces himself, but Dean eases the ‘truck’ into a slow takeoff. 

Castiel knocks twice on the glass. He hears Dean laugh over the sound of rubber on gravel. The truck accelerates. Castiel tentatively spreads his wing. The wind is magnificent, refreshing. He stands and leans over the top of the truck, wing angled forward as if he were flying. He grins, reaches down, and knocks twice on the glass again. 

He’s not sure how long they stay out. They don’t talk. Dean just drives and lets Castiel enjoy the ride. He keeps them on an open dirt road that surrounds Bobby’s property. The house never leaves sight as they circle the land. Castiel waits until they reach the point on the road where they are the farthest away from the house. He retracts his wing, then crouches back down. He knocks once. 

Dean slows the truck. 

He taps Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean brings the truck to a stop. He turns around in his seat. “You ok?” 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “I have a question.” 

“Ok.” 

“If you know how to operate this truck, why don’t you use it to leave? Or do you not want to leave?” 

“My stuff’s still here,” says Dean. 

“You cannot leave without your stuff?” 

“I can, but I don’t want to.” 

Castiel hums to himself. “I see.” 

A crease forms between Dean’s eyebrows. “Hey, Cas?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you still want to, you know,” he clears his throat. “Are we still sticking with the two week plan?” 

Castiel frowns back at him. “I’m not sure,” he says. So much has changed during the past few days. He finds it hard to believe that such a small amount of time could undo a decades-long death wish. “If I do decide to die, I will not require your help.” Dean does not want to kill him. It would be unfair to make him do it. 

“I gave you my word,” says Dean. “I’ll be there if you decide that’s what you want to do. I won’t make you go out alone.” 

“It will upset you.”

  
“Cas, quit worrying about me getting upset. I said I’ll do it and I meant it.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side. He does worry about upsetting Dean, more than he realized. 

Dean sighs. “I know where you’re coming from,” he says quietly. He leans closer to the open window between them. 

Castiel moves closer so he can hear Dean better. 

“I’ve been there,” says Dean. “I’ve wanted the same thing. Hell, I even tried to off myself once or twice. But shit changes. Life gets different. Things can get better or worse in the blink of an eye.” 

Castiel’s cheeks are hot. He clenches his jaw. The air between them is thick and heavy, evocative. “How?” 

“I don’t know, stuff happens.” 

“No,” says Castiel, “how did you try to kill yourself?” 

“I’ll tell you later, if you’re still around,” answers Dean. “I’m not going to give you tips.” 

Castiel scowls. He was not asking for advice. Things that would kill a human would not necessarily kill and angel, even a mongrel like Castiel. 

“I want you to want to live,” says Dean, “but if, when this week is over, you still want to die, I’ll be the one to do it.” 

“I can do it alone.” He doesn’t mean to be dismissive. He wants Dean to know he isn’t obligated to help. 

“I’m the professional killer, here,” says Dean. “I won’t back out of our deal. I promise. Just finish out the week and let me know what you decide.” 

Castiel looks for a break, a sign of insincerity in Dean’s green eyes, but finds none. “All right,” he says. 

The return trip to the house is quiet. Castiel does not pretend to fly.

 

xxx

 

Bobby yells at Dean for taking the truck. Dean is unmoved by the lecture. After Bobby returns to his office, Dean grins and says Bobby is “a big teddy bear.” 

They take the truck out again the next day. Dean does not bring up their agreement. 

It’s been three days since Bobby assigned them work and they’ve yet to accomplish any of the tasks on the list. Dean is making his way to the back yard where the truck is parked. Castiel stops him. 

“We should address our chores today,” he says. 

“You don’t want to ride?” asks Dean. 

“Maybe later,” answers Castiel, “but we should do something productive first.” 

Dean shrugs. “All right, but don’t hurt yourself.” 

“With the exception of my wing, my injuries have completely healed.” 

“That’s great, but you still have to take it easy. Doctor’s orders.” 

Castiel tilts his head to the side, eyeing Dean. Sam did not tell Castiel he needed to “take it easy.” And if this was an order from the doctor, then Bobby would not contradict it. “Does this concern actually come from Sam,” asks Castiel, “or does it come from you?” 

Dean turns away from him. “We’ll fix the fence today. Meet me out front.” With that, Dean leaves. 

Castiel goes to the front yard as instructed. He can hear banging coming from the garage, but he does not leave his post. He waits. 

Dean finally arrives. He’s driving the truck. It is full of supplies. Castiel scowls at the hunter as he parks the truck by the fence. 

“You gathered supplies on your own,” says Castiel. 

Dean has turned the vehicle off and is now unloading large slats of wood. 

“That was deliberate,” says Castiel. 

“What was?” asks Dean.

"You told me to wait so I could not help." Castiel moves to unload the truck, but Dean blocks him. “You are very stubborn,” says Castiel. 

“You’re still healing,” says Dean. 

“We’ve already addressed this,” says Castiel, frustrated. 

Dean blocks his way again. This time he faces Castiel and hands him a small metal object. “If you want to help, you can measure the wood.” He calls the device a “tape measure.” 

Castiel clenches his jaw and takes the device. He fumbles with the tape measure before figuring out the correct way to use it. By the time he has completed his assignment, Dean has finished unloading the truck. 

Castiel tries not to dwell on his frustration because “stewing” is against Rule Three, but Dean is being deliberately obstinate. He assigns Castiel small, tedious tasks to keep him busy. Castiel cannot decide if he is being punished or coddled. The hunter doesn’t look angry or annoyed. He actually seems pleased and even has the gall to grin at Castiel when their eyes meet. Perhaps he is misreading the situation, but it is no less infuriating. 

Dean finally steps away from the fence, examining his work. Castiel waits for Dean to order him to fetch the hammer or find a different attachment for the drill, or something equally inane.

“Thanks for your help,” says Dean. “Looks good.” 

Castiel bites his tongue. Dean is mocking him. He must be; Castiel made no significant contributions to the job. In an attempt to preserve his last remaining ounce of patience, Castiel decides to distract himself with conversation. “How did you lose your mother?” he asks. 

Dean stops, as though momentarily paralyzed. He stares ahead, unblinking before he answers. “She died.” 

Dean’s reaction is all the encouragement Castiel needs to continue. He feels a twisted sense of victory now that the discomfort has shifted to Dean. “Did you know her?” he asks. 

“Yes.” Dean’s answer is automatic. 

“You loved her deeply.” 

“Yes.” 

“How did she die?”

Dean shifts his weight, still staring at the fence. “Something killed her.” 

Castiel suspects he is treading into dangerous territory, but this is no less than Dean deserves. He was beginning to feel like Dean’s equal until today. “Something like me,” says Castiel. He assumes as much, but a vindictive part of him wants to make Dean say it. “It’s why you became a hunter.” 

“It was a demon. We weren’t sure at first, but Dad tracked it down.” 

Castiel is surprised that Dean is still answering his questions. “What became of your father?” 

Dean takes a moment to answer. “It killed him too.” 

“He died recently?” 

This time Dean doesn’t answer, he just stares. 

Castiel moves closer and repeats the question. 

Dean still doesn’t answer. 

Castiel steps between the hunter and the fence. Dean does not look angry. His eyes are unfocused and his lips are parted. 

“Dean?” 

No response. He is miles away, hypnotized by something Castiel cannot see. 

“Dean?” 

Castiel has pushed him too far. Instead of vindicated, Castiel is guilty and panicked. He moves closer and grabs Dean by his shoulders, shaking him gently. “Dean, can you hear me? Please respond.” 

At last, Dean blinks and his eyes seem to focus again. 

“Dean?” Castiel cannot stop saying his name. He needs an answer before he can calm down. 

He finally seems to see Castiel. “Sorry,” he breathes. “I spaced out for a second.”

Castiel studies him; panic not yet subsided. “You are unwell,” he says slowly. “We should return to the house.” 

Dean blinks again and his eyes begin to wander. 

Castiel holds a hand to Dean’s face to keep him focused. He should call for Bobby. Dean leans into Castiel’s touch and seems to relax. 

Castiel doesn’t dare move his hand. “I should not have tried to pry,” he says. “I was attempting to—I upset you. It was selfish. I apologize.” He can’t bring himself to confess. He feels small, childish. 

“It’s ok,” says Dean. He is fully focused on Castiel now. “You lost your mom too. We’ve got something in common.” 

Castiel’s heart breaks. He is a monster. 

“What happened to your dad?” asks Dean. 

He owes Dean an answer. “My owner killed him.” 

Dean takes a slow, uneven breath. 

Castiel move his thumb against Dean’s cheek. The physical contact seems to help. “This calms you,” he says. “You did something similar in the cabin.” He tries to remember the way Dean touched his face when he thought Castiel was sick. He repositions his hand. “You said you were checking for a fever,” he says. “I suspect, though, this type of touch is also meant to sooth.” He hopes he’s right. Dean has also used humor to defuse a tense situation. 

A faint smile ghosts across Dean’s lips. “Yeah,” he answers. 

Castiel mentally braces himself and makes an attempt at sarcasm. “If I wake you again in the night,” he begins, “this would be a nice alternative to kneeing me in the back.” 

Dean actually laughs. “Are you giving me permission?” 

Castiel cannot help but laugh too, as relief floods through him and replaces guilt. “Yes,” he answers. “In accordance with the rules set down by Bobby, you have my permission to do this the next time I have a nightmare.” 

Dean is staring at him now, still grinning. His bright green eyes are focused and the attention is more intense than Castiel anticipated. Heat rises in his cheeks and he drops his hand. He feels dizzy and warm. The sensation is not bad. He hurt Dean, but he was also able to heal him. He has never healed anyone before; never done anything useful before. 

He does not know what the hunter is thinking as he continues to stare, but he knows something significant has transpired between them and it cannot be undone. 

Dean was right. Life changes in the blink of an eye.

 

xxx

 

_Castiel unfolds his wing and knocks twice against the glass window. The truck picks up speed. Dean drives them away from the house and down the dirt road that leads to the edge of Bobby’s property._

_Castiel grips the truck and braces for the turn as they reach the end of the road, but Dean doesn’t turn. The dirt road spills out onto a highway Castiel has never seen before and the truck gains speed as the tires meet the asphalt._

_They’re going too fast. Castiel tries to retract his wing, but it’s already pressed against his back. Both wings are. He can’t extend them. He kneels down into the truck bed and moves to grab Dean’s shoulder, but the window is closed and he cannot open it. He knocks against it, hoping Dean will hear him over the roar of the engine._

_He tries to stand again, panic rising in his chest. He’s stuck. His feet are not shackled, but he cannot move. He’s paralyzed. He shouts for Dean, but gets no reply._

_Suddenly, Dean takes a sharp turn from the paved road and Castiel slams into the wall of the truck bed. Something snaps in his wing and he cries out. Dean still doesn’t hear him—or maybe Dean doesn't care._

_Castiel pushes himself upright, exhausting most of his strength in the process. He moves to knock on the glass again. Then he sees it._

_The silo looms, dark and menacing up ahead._

_Dean drives faster. Castiel begs him to stop, but the hunter isn’t listening. They follow a road that circles his cage._

_Castiel cannot see his owner, but he knows he’s there. The heavy steal door is open and an inky blackness spills from the depths of the silo._

_Dean continues to circle around it and every time they pass the door, Castiel holds his breath. The hunter could appear at any moment._

_As they pass the door again, Castiel sees a figure creep forward from the doorway. Castiel prays it isn’t the hunter. He can’t go back. He’s not strong enough to go back. He’s become too accustomed to kindness. The hunter will break him, or what’s left of him, if he returns._

_The man in the shadows steps out as they pass._

_Bobby._

_The hunter brings the truck to an abrupt stop. Dean does not get out._

_Bobby comes closer, going to Castiel instead of Dean. He’s humming something. The sound is gentle and comforting. Bobby reaches for Castiel and takes his hand. He helps him out of the truck._

_Behind Bobby, the silo has disappeared. They’re home. Castiel can breathe again. He hears the door to the truck open just as the dream begins to fade._

Castiel blinks. He’s in his room on his bed. He hears someone talking. He hears Dean’s bedroom door shut. 

Bobby enters Castiel’s room. He’s carrying a wooden chair. He sets it beside Castiel’s bed and sits. “How’s your wing?” he asks quietly. 

Castiel sits up as best he can, his wings awkwardly cramped against the mattress. “It’s all right,” he answers. 

“Did you dream about the cage?” 

“Yes.” He must have screamed again. 

“Did you see the SOB that kidnapped you?” 

“No. I thought he was there, but you appeared instead. You took me home, or back to your home, I suppose.” 

“This can be your home too,” whispers Bobby, “if you want it.” He glances at the wall separating Dean’s room from Castiel’s. “I’m trying like hell to make it his home too.” 

“You are very important to him,” whispers Castiel. 

Bobby looks back to him, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. 

“You didn’t know?” Surely Dean has told Bobby how significant he is in his life. Surely Bobby knows what he means to the Winchester brothers. 

“He told you that?” 

“Yes.” That’s not entirely true, but Bobby does not need to know that Castiel’s assessment is based more on observation of Dean than confirmation from Dean. 

Bobby raises an eyebrow. “He talked to you about me?” 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “And he talked about his mother.” 

Bobby’s eyes grow wide. “He told you about his mother? Are you sure?” 

“Well, I had to ask about her, but yes, he answered my questions.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He told me he loved her. He said demon killed her,” answers Castiel. “And that same demon killed his father.” 

Bobby is still processing what Castiel just said.

“I have a confession to make,” whispers Castiel. “I took advantage of his emotional discomfort to gain that information. I knew it would upset him and I pressed him for the information anyway because I was angry with him.” He studies Bobby’s reaction as he speaks. “It was spiteful and wrong. I know I should apologize, but I do not know how to explain my actions.” 

“Why were you mad?” asks Bobby. “What’d he do?” 

“He would not let me assist in mending the fence today.” His answer is pathetic. He had no right to be angry. 

“Why did that make you mad?” asks Bobby. 

“I do not know.” Castiel looks down at his lap. 

“Did you tell him you were mad?” 

Castiel shakes his head. His eyes burn. Why do his eyes burn? The sensation is like crying, but he is not hurting. He has no reason to cry. 

“You need to talk to him,” says Bobby. “If he made you mad, you should tell him. He needs to know what he did.” 

“I’m not sure what he did,” whispers Castiel. “I was just angry. I wanted to upset Dean as he’d upset me. I was cruel. I pushed him too far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I asked him deeply personal questions,” answers Castiel. “I asked even though I knew it would make him uncomfortable.” 

Bobby sighs. “Is that when he started staring off into space like a zombie?” 

“Yes,” Castiel looks up. “How did you know?” 

“I’ve been watching you two idiots ever since you started taking joy rides around the pasture.” He grins. “I usually pour myself a cup of coffee and park in front of a window and wait for somebody to start trouble.” 

“I thought you were working.” 

“I’m big on multi-tasking.” 

Castiel frowns, cocking his head to one side. 

“I didn’t see everything, but I was one my way out to check on you boys when you were—you know.” He clears his throat. “When you were—I mean I saw Dean staring like a space cadet and I saw you bring him back to earth.” He waves a hand. “Point being it looked like you two had a moment. I don’t think it was a bad thing.” 

Castiel’s cheeks are wet. “Dean thinks I am better than I am.” 

Bobby runs a hand over his beard, a gesture Castiel has come to associate with stress. “First of all, don’t talk like that. You are better than you think you are and Dean is a damn good judge of character. If he likes you, don’t question it. Generally speaking, that boy doesn’t like anybody. I don’t know how you won him over, but you did.” At that, he laughs. “Heck, without you, I’m not sure Sam and I could have convinced him to stay.”

“You forced him to stay.” 

Bobby rolls his eyes. “He can leave. He's a grown man. He knows he’s not trapped. He’s staying because he wants to, or at least part of him wants to. I figured he’d pitch a fit and take off after Sam left. He didn’t stay here just for me.” 

Castiel cannot look at him anymore. He does not deserve to hear the nice things Bobby is saying. Not after today. Suddenly, the joy he felt earlier is gone and an old hatred creeps back into his chest. 

Dean said things could change for better or worse. Castiel feels bad but not worse, not yet. 

Bobby sighs. “You ever had hot chocolate?” 

Castiel shakes his head. 

Bobby pats him lightly on the shoulder. “Come with me. I’ll make you some.” 

He does not want to go with Bobby. He wants to be alone. He wants to stay in bed and wait for the end of the week. If Dean knew how terrible Castiel really was, he’d probably want to kill him. 

“Come on, Cas,” whispers Bobby. He tugs Castiel’s arm. 

Reluctantly, eyes still burning, he obeys. Bobby does not know how terrible he is either. 

They go downstairs to the living room and Bobby does something to alter the form of the form of the couch. It now resembles a bed. He tells Castiel to “sit tight” and he’ll be right back. 

He returns not long afterwards with two mugs filled with a warm, sweet liquid. He sits in a chair adjacent to the couch and turns on the television. 

The noise makes it difficult for Castiel to think. He drinks and watches the people on the screen. After a while, it’s hard to focus on the story. He sets the mug on the floor and lays on his stomach. He lets the words from the television replace his thoughts and he drifts away.

 


	13. This is goodbye

Bobby keeps them occupied over the next few days. He assigns them chores and makes a habit of checking on them every hour to make sure they’re behaving. 

Dean takes Castiel out on a ride or two in one of Bobby’s old pickups. Cas wants to fly, but he can't with since his wing is broken, so Dean lets him ride in the back and stretch his good wing. It's not much, but Castiel seems to enjoy it. Bobby throws a fit about it, but doesn’t hide the keys. 

On the third day, Cas decides they should actually address some of the tasks Bobby assigned to them. Dean reluctantly agrees. 

Dean does most of the heavy-lifting. Cas is still healing and Dean finds himself reminding the angel of that fact every time Cas tries to help. They’re fixing the fence in the front yard today. Cas has been uncharacteristically quiet. Dean hammers the last nail into place then steps back to check his work. Cas is watching him instead of looking at the fence. 

“Thanks for your help,” says Dean. “Looks good.” 

“How did you lose your mother?” asks Cas.

Dean’s stunned for a moment. The question catches him off guard and he forgets he doesn't have to answer. The story plays itself in his head. “She died.”

“Did you know her?” 

“Yes.” He doesn’t know what compels him to respond.

“You loved her deeply.” 

“Yes.” 

“How did she die?” Cas is watching him now, blue eyes wide and focused. 

Dean shifts his weight where he stands. “Something killed her.” 

“Something like me. It’s why you became a hunter.’’ It seems like Cas is just confirming his suspicions at this point. 

“It was a demon,” says Dean. “We weren’t sure at first, but Dad tracked it down.” 

“What became of your father?” 

Dean swallows hard. “It killed him too,” he answers. The next part of the story is something he hasn’t told anyone. It’s his secret. John wouldn’t want him to tell—wouldn’t want Sam to know. He tries to force the memory back down, but it keeps bubbling to the surface. 

He can still see his mother, graceful and kind, grinning as she holds her arms out to John. It’s not her, not really. She looks exactly like Dean remembers, the demon’s energy keeping her body fresh. He and John weren’t prepared for that. John had told him and Sam that their mother’s body burned when the demon set the house on fire. He told them she was gone. 

Dean can hear someone calling him. It’s probably John. Dean’s not reacting like he should. He’s still in shock. He can’t fight this thing. He can’t fight his mother. What if she’s still in there? What if Sam can bring her back? What if Sam is right? It’s hope that gets his father killed.

Someone calls for him again. Someone is shaking him. Finally, Dean blinks and remembers where he is. 

“Dean,” Cas says again. There’s a note of urgency in his voice. He’s holding Dean by the shoulders.

Dean’s eyes focus on Cas, and he comes back. “Sorry,” he says slowly. “I spaced out for a second.” 

Cas frowns at him, the crease between his brows deepening. “You are unwell,” he says gently. “We should return to the house.” He touches a hand to Dean’s cheek and his fingers are cool and soft. 

Dean leans into the touch without fully realizing it.

“I should not have tried to pry,” says Cas. His voice is low and calming. “I was attempting to—I upset you. It was selfish. I apologize.” 

“It’s ok,” says Dean, still somewhat dazed. “You lost your mom too. We’ve got something in common.” He can know about Cas’ mom. Cas mentioned her death when they were in the recovery room. “What happened to your dad?” That’s information only Jess should know. 

“My owner killed him,” answers Cas. His hand is still on Dean’s cheek. 

Dean remembers Rule One, and doesn’t move. He takes a shaky breath. 

Cas runs his thumb over Dean’s skin. “This calms you,” he says. “You did something similar in the cabin.” He tilts his head like he’s trying to remember. He moves his hand up so his thumb is stroking Dean’s brow and his fingers are in Dean’s hair. 

Dean’s forgotten how to speak. His lips are parted but God help him, he can’t make himself talk. 

“You said you were checking for a fever,” Cas continues. “I suspect, though, this type of touch is also meant to sooth.” 

Dean manages to speak. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

“If I wake you again in the night,” says Cas, “this would be a nice alternative to kneeing me in the back.” 

Dean laughs and Cas actually smiles. “Are you giving me permission?” asks Dean. 

Cas laughs. “Yes. In accordance with the rules set down by Bobby, you have my permission to do this the next time I have a nightmare.” Cas licks his lips quickly, then drops his hand, color blossoming in his cheeks. 

Dean’s dazed and feeling a little punch-drunk, and judging by the look on Cas’ face, he feels the same.

 

xxx

 

Cas has another nightmare. The first scream wakes Dean, but by the second scream, Bobby is already up the stairs an in Cas’ room. Dean feels a twinge of shame because Bobby thinks Dean can’t handle this. He doesn’t trust Dean not to fuck up again. He hangs back and watches Bobby calm the thrashing angel. He’s surprised by Bobby’s technique. 

Bobby kneels by the bed. He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts playing _Hey Jude_. 

It takes a few seconds for the sounds to reach Castiel, but eventually he releases his grip on the sheets and stops fighting. He stills, breathing heavily.

Bobby stops the song, stands and motions for Dean to follow. He nudges Dean toward his room. “You’re mama taught me that trick when I use to babysit you and your brother,” says Bobby. “Sam showed me how to play it on the phone. My singing voice isn’t what it use to be.” He chuckles quietly to himself. “Go back to sleep. I’ll stay on angel duty for a while.” 

Dean just nods and returns to his room. He’s suddenly exhausted.

 

xxx

 

Dean finds Cas and Bobby asleep in the living room the next morning. Bobby is out cold in his recliner and Cas is curled onto his side beneath a blanket on the sofa bed. They each have an empty mug on the floor beside them. 

Dean collects their dishes and decides to start breakfast. Sam called him earlier in the morning and woke him up. Dean would rather be asleep, but he’s too jittery to go back to bed. 

Cas is almost completely healed. It’s his angel side kicking in. If he were human, he would have died from the injuries he sustained. Sam said Cas will probably be able to fly soon, but he doesn’t want Cas to try it while he’s not there. 

Dean cracks eggs into a bowl and wonders how he’s going to keep the angel grounded until Sammy comes back. Flying makes Cas happy, and if he’s happy, maybe he’ll want to live.

He beats the eggs and pours them into a frying pan, then moves on to the bacon. He hears the couch creak in the living room. He pours two cups of coffee. He doesn’t need to turn around to know Cas has come into the kitchen. Maybe it’s because he’s been a hunter for so long and he knows the signs of an angel approaching. Maybe he just knows Cas. 

“Sam called,” says Dean. “He said we might be able to unbind that wing.” He grabs Cas’ coffee cup. “He said he doesn’t want you to fly until he gets back, but you should be able to move it.” He turns and hands Cas the cup. “He said he wants you to do some physical therapy crap before you fly. I can help if you want.” 

“Thank you,” says Cas. His voice is low and sleepy. Their fingers touch as Cas takes his cup. Dean feels his cheeks flush. Cas frowns at him. “Why does your face do that?” 

Fuck. 

“Do what?” Dean knows what, but he asks anyway. 

“Turn colors.” 

_Oh, that. That’s just my face’s way of saying I like you and I think you have nice eyes, but I know you’re not my species and you’re healing from a lifetime of abuse and it is wrong on so many levels that I’m creeping on you._

Dean rubs his face. “Because I’m a dumbass,” he answers. 

Cas does that “you’re weird” head tilt thing. 

“It’s a stupid human thing,” says Dean.

“Do I do it?” 

Dean chuckles, because yeah, Cas blushes too and it’s fucking adorable. “Sometimes.” 

“What causes it?” 

“Feelings,” mutters Dean. He’s staring at the floor. That’s the best answer he’s got. “Sometimes they make you blush and feel like a fucking idiot.” 

“Blush?” 

“The color change.” Dean turns back to the stove before he embarrasses himself further. “It’s called blushing.” He flips the bacon. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know why it happens. It just does.” He knows why it happens, but Cas doesn't need to know that.

Castiel seems to take a moment to let that process. “Dean.” He sounds serious when he speaks again. “I need to explain my behavior yesterday.”

Shit. Cas knows. He put it together. He doesn’t want Dean to think yesterday meant something it didn’t. He knows Dean’s been thinking about it. He can probably read minds or something. Maybe he has some extra hybrid power.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Dean quickly. “It was just a weird thing. I get it. I thought it was weird too. I mean it was nice at the time, but yeah, now, totally weird.”

“You thought it was nice?” asks Castiel 

Dean whips around to face him. He’s a fucking moron. “No,” he spits. “I thought you thought it was nice.” He doesn’t exactly hear what Cas says next. His heart is pounding too loudly. Can Cas hear it? “Don’t worry about it,” he says again. “I hadn’t even thought about it until you mentioned it.”

“You’re not angry, or hurt?” asks Cas. 

“No, dude,” answers Dean. He hopes “dude” sounds casual enough. “Of course not. You were just trying to help. It was my fault anyway. You were just following my lead, but I told you; I’m a shitty role model.” 

Dean goes back to cooking. Of course Cas decides to come closer. He stands right beside Dean. 

“I’m not sure we’re talking about the same thing,” he says. 

“What are you talking about?” asks Dean. He tries not to hope this is a misunderstanding. 

“The way I questioned you yesterday,” answers Cas. “I knew it would upset you. I did it on purpose.” 

Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Oh, Jesus, that’s—that’s it? That’s all you meant?” 

“Yes. What did you think I was talking about?” 

 _The nice, soft, weird, but good-weird, way you touched my face._  

“I don’t know,” answers Dean. “I guess I just panicked. I don’t know what I thought.”

If Cas thinks that’s bullshit, he doesn’t call him on it. “I need to apologize,” he says. “I was angry with you and deliberately caused you pain that was unequal to the pain you caused me.” 

The floor drops out from underneath Dean. Cas was angry? When the fuck was he angry? When did he cause Cas pain? Fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have let Cas help with that stupid fucking fence. 

He looks Castiel over for any sign of injury. “What pain?” he asks. “Why were you angry? What did I do? I’m sorry.” He doesn’t mean to vomit words, but he does. 

“Not physical pain,” says Cas. “I was simply upset. I do not fully understand why, but—” 

“When were you upset?” Cas was quiet yesterday, but he didn’t seem upset. Fuck. Dean has one job and he can’t fucking do it. He can’t even figure out what he did wrong. It was a damn good day in his book. 

Cas sighs. “Yesterday. You refused to let me do my share of the work. It was frustrating, but I’m not sure I had a right to be frustrated.”

“Shit,” breathes Dean. That never occurred to him. “I didn’t even notice.” 

“Were you not then, mocking me for being too weak to assist when you thanked me for my help?” 

“Of course not!” Dean tries not to shout. 

Bobby lets out a loud snort from the living room. 

“Dammit,” mutters Dean. The last thing they need is to wake Bobby up and get another lecture. “Hang on,” he says, turning off the stove. Breakfast is ready anyway. He dumps everything onto plates and puts foil over them. He nods for Cas to follow him to the front porch. 

Dean stations them in a corner away from any windows. “ Start from the beginning,” he says. “I thought we had a good time yesterday.” 

Cas sighs. “I know it’s not my place to contradict a human,” he begins, “but you and your family insist that I am in some way equal. I do not understand the extent of my equality and that is sometimes frustrating.” He crosses his arms and looks down at the wood. 

Dean’s a shitty caretaker. 

“I also suppose it was upsetting to be treated like I am fragile and damaged—to damaged to be useful.” 

“I don’t think you’re damaged,” says Dean quickly. He’s flying blind trying to fix this, so he starts with the things that sound the worst. “You _are_ equal to me, in every way. Is that why you didn’t argue with me? You thought you didn’t have the right?”

“No, I—I’m not sure, actually.” 

“You’re free to argue with me any time you want,” says Dean. “It doesn’t mean I won’t argue back, but that’s what people do when they’re, you know, when they—um—when they’re—when people spend a lot of time together.” He mentally kicks himself. _Real smooth._

Cas curls his wings around his shoulders like he’s embarrassed, or insecure about something. “I’m not sure my anger was justified.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” says Dean. “If I know you’re mad, I can talk to you and we can figure it out together. I didn’t even know you were mad yesterday.” 

“I broke Rule Three,” says Cas quietly. 

Dean only remembers Rule One; don’t touch Cas. “Which one is that?” he asks. 

“No stewing.” 

Dean laughs. “I break that rule a lot.” 

Cas smiles and looks up slightly. “I am sorry I reacted so poorly.” 

“You keep saying that,” says Dean. “What did you do? I don’t get what you’re apologizing for.” 

“For upsetting you,” says Castiel. “I told you, I did it on purpose. I knew asking about your mother would upset you and I did it with that deliberate intention.” 

Dean overreacted yesterday. He shouldn’t have spaced out. He shouldn’t have gotten so upset; shouldn’t be so sensitive. “Cas, I say things just to piss people off all the time. It’s not a big deal.” 

“But I did not ‘piss you off’,” he makes air quotes around Dean’s words. “I hurt your feelings. I caused you grief.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Life caused me grief, not you. Besides, you were nice about it at the end there.” He’s fucking blushing again. “I guess you weren’t mad anymore?” 

“I was concerned when you stopped responding.” 

Cas was concerned. He was worried about Dean. What the fuck does that mean? Probably nothing. Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Point is,” he says, “if I piss you off, you tell me. We might argue, but that’s ok. And if you think I’m being a dumbass, you just tell Bobby and he’ll straighten us out.” 

“All right,” mutters Castiel. “I am sorry I was vindictive instead of honest.” 

“It’s ok,” says Dean. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t useful or equal. I was worried you’d get hurt but you’re strong and I was stupid.” 

Cas tilts his head again. “Our friendship is still intact?” 

“Of course,” answers Dean. It takes all of his restraint to stay where he is instead of stepping forward to take Cas in his arms. The angel looks so vulnerable. “Of course it is.” Dean hopes his words are comforting enough. 

Castiel watches him with those crystal blue eyes. There is so much hidden behind the surface of the angel and Dean aches to know more. He clenches his hands into fists at his side to keep himself from reaching for Cas. 

Cas looks down at Dean's hands. “You have my permission,” he says. 

Shit. Dean’s an open fucking book. He can’t help himself. He raises one hand slowly, giving Cas time to change his mind. 

He brushes a lock of dark hair away from Cas’ face. That’s a safe move. They’ve established face-touching is all right. Surprisingly, Cas mimics the motion. Dean could stay here, exactly like this forever. 

“So,” he begins, “this isn’t weird for you, is it?”

“It is new,” answers Cas, “but many normal human interactions are new to me.” 

“Right,” says Dean. He drops his hand. Cas doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know the effect he has on Dean. He thinks this is normal. Dean’s teaching him the wrong shit. He wishes Sam would hurry up and come back. 

Cas drops his hand too. 

“We should wake up Bobby before breakfast gets cold,” says Dean.

Cas nods and follows him back inside.

 

xxx

 

 

Bobby sends Sam pictures of Cas’ wing after breakfast. Sam says they can unbind it. 

Cas is standing in the back pasture, broken wing mended and unbound and his good wing already outstretched. 

Dean watches Cas roll his shoulders and test the mobility of the wing. His black feathers glisten in the sunlight. Dean and Bobby stay close in case something goes wrong. 

Cas takes a deep breath and slowly extends the wing. He makes a face. His muscles must be stiff. When both wings are fully flared Cas grins and makes a satisfied little hum. 

Dean can’t stop staring. He’s seen wings bigger and more colorful, but none were as stunning as Cas’ are right now. Dean has to make a conscious effort to not try to touch them. 

“Sam says you have to stay grounded until he gets back,” says Bobby. “I’d appreciate it if you would resist the urge to fly for a few more days. I don’t want to explain to Dr. Winchester why I let his patient over-exert himself.” 

“I understand,” says Cas. 

“I’ve got to make a call,” says Bobby. “Can I trust you two out here?” 

“We’re fine,” says Dean. “Go feed hunters false leads or whatever it is you do.” 

Bobby doesn’t deny it, but he does grumble under his breath as he heads back to the house. 

Cas stretches his wings a little further and leans his head back, face to the sky.

“Feel better?” asks Dean. 

“Yes,” answers Cas. 

Dean checks to make sure Bobby is in the house. “You’ve only got two days left,” 

“I know,” answers Cas. 

“Are you still—do you want—what do you want to do?”

“Fly,” answers Cas. He lowers his chin and looks at Dean. He seems content, relaxed. “You were right. I no longer want to die.” He lowers his wings, then extends them again. 

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. “Are you going to leave?” 

“I believe my owner has captured another angel,” says Cas. “He was looking for a female to breed with me.” 

Dean knows the rest of this story, but he waits for Cas to tell him. 

“I cannot allow myself to become complacent while another angel suffers at his hands,” says Cas. 

“You can’t take him on alone,” says Dean. 

“I can,” says Cas. “I was a child when he captured us. As I grew, he kept me in a weakened state. I am stronger than I’ve ever been and I have nothing to lose.” 

“I don’t…” begins Dean. _I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want to lose you._ He hasn’t even known Cas for two full weeks. He shouldn’t feel this way. 

“This is justice, Dean,” he says. “I need to do it.” 

“I’ll go with you,” says Dean. He understands justice. God knows, if there’s anything he understands it’s the need to set things right. 

“You can’t,” says Cas. “Would you want me to assist you while you fought the demon who killed your family?” 

“That’s different. That’s personal. It’s a family issue.” 

“This is personal for me.” A shadow passes over his face. “I need to do this alone—for my family and my dignity.” 

“Will you come back?” Dean doesn’t ask what Cas is going to do. He knows. Cas is going to beat the son of a bitch to a grizzly pulp. He’s going to kill him. 

“If I am still welcome.” 

“You better come back,” says Dean. “You’ll always be welcome here. No matter what” 

Castiel bites his lip. “I would like to leave now, before Bobby finds a way to keep me grounded.” 

Dean knew it. He knew this was goodbye as soon as he unwrapped Cas’ wing. Cas takes a step forward. Dean mirrors him without thinking. Cas touches Dean’s cheek. Apparently this is just a thing they do now.

“I do not want Bobby or Sam to be angry with you for letting me go,” says Cas. “I will be back soon. I’m sorry.” 

The last thing Dean sees is Cas staring into his soul then everything goes black.

 

xxx

 

_John thrusts Sam into Dean’s arms. The house is dark. Mary is calling for them. John kisses Dean’s forehead. He’s crying. Dean doesn’t understand. They’re huddled together in Sam’s nursery._

_“Mommy is going to come upstairs,” says John. “She’s going to look for you and Sammy. You can’t let her find you. She's not herself right now.”_  

_Dean doesn’t know what’s going on, but he thinks it has something to do the banging they heard downstairs. It woke Dean up and he found his mom was already in the hallway. She’d heard it too. She told him it wasn’t thunder. She said he shouldn’t be afraid and he should go wake up Daddy. She’d gone downstairs alone._ _Dean had followed her orders. He got John out of bed and his father sent him into Sam’s room to wait. Dean was afraid. Mary wanted him to be brave, but he didn’t feel brave. He’d heard stories from his grandpa. He’d heard monsters were real._ _He’d heard screaming. John cried out for Mary. The lights in the house flashed on all at once. There was a loud pop, then everything went dark. Sam started to cry. Someone opened the door to the nursery. John had made it back upstairs to the boys. Mary had not come with him._

_John pushes Sam and Dean toward the closet and tells Dean to keep his brother quiet and stay out of sight. “In a few minutes,” says John, “I’m going to yell and I’m going to tell you to run. Take Sam and don’t stop. No matter what you see, don’t stop. Go to the neighbor’s house. Call Uncle Bobby, then call the police.”_

_Dean doesn’t know what to tell them. John says it’s ok. He says they’ll know what to do. Dean asks about Mary. John promises it will be all right. He doesn’t promise Mary will be all right._

_His father shuts the closet door. He leaves the nursery. The house is quiet. Mary has stopped calling for them. Suddenly, Dean hears his father shouting. He runs. John’s voice is close. Mary is screaming too. She’s telling Dean to come back. Dean sees them as he hits the bottom step. They’re both on the floor, bleeding, struggling. He smells smoke. Dean can’t differentiate between their screams anymore. He keeps running. He goes next door. He follows John’s instructions. He chooses John and leaves his mother to struggle. A distant part of him knows someday, he will leave John just as he left his mother._

_He holds Sam tight and waits for his parents to return._


	14. Burn

When Castiel wakes up the next morning, he is covered with a blanket and Bobby is snoring soundly in his chair. He hears noise coming from the kitchen and smells something savory. He follows the scent and finds Dean making breakfast. 

“Sam called,” says Dean, without turning around from the stove. “He said we might be able to unbind that wing.” 

Castiel does not know why that surprises him. 

“He said he doesn’t want you to fly until he gets back, but you should be able to move it.” Dean turns and offers Castiel a cup filled with coffee. “He said he wants you to do some physical therapy crap before you fly. I can help you if you want.” 

“Thank you,” mutters Castiel. Memories of last night come creeping back. He takes the mug from Dean. Their fingers touch and Dean immediately turns bright red. Castiel frowns. “Why does your face you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“Turn colors.” 

Dean takes a step back and runs a hand over his face as though that will get rid of the flush in his cheeks. It doesn’t. “Because I’m a dumbass,” mutters Dean. 

Castiel tilts his head to one side. 

Dean makes a face and scowls at the floor. “It’s a stupid human thing.” 

“Do I do it?” 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Sometimes.” 

“What causes it?” 

“Feelings,” mutters Dean. “Sometimes they make you blush and feel like a fucking idiot.” 

“Blush?” 

“The color change,” mutters Dean, turning back around to the stove. “It’s called blushing.” Something sizzles in the pan. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know why it happens. It just does.” 

Castiel frowns, sensing the end of Dean’s patience with the subject. It’s just as well; Castiel has a different, more uncomfortable issue to address. “Dean,” he begins. 

Dean freezes, and his shoulders tense. 

“I need to explain my behavior yesterday,” says Castiel. 

“Don’t worry about it,” says Dean quickly. “It was just a weird thing. I get it. I thought it was weird too. I mean it was nice at the time, but yeah. Now, totally weird.”

“You thought it was nice?” 

“No,” says Dean quickly, turning around again. “I thought you thought it was nice.” 

“I was being extremely rude,” says Castiel. “I wanted to apologize.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” says Dean. “I hadn’t even thought about it until you mentioned it.” 

“You’re not angry, or hurt?” asks Castiel. 

“No, dude,” answers Dean. “Of course not. You were just trying to help. It was my fault anyway. You were just following my lead, but I told you; I’m a shitty role model.” 

Dean turns away from him again, so Castiel stands beside him at the stove. Dean’s heart is beating rapidly. He wonders if Dean does this often, or if Castiel just triggers certain physical reactions in him. 

“I’m not sure we are talking about the same thing,” says Castiel. 

“What are you talking about?” asks Dean. 

“The way I questioned you yesterday. I knew it would upset you. I did it on purpose.” 

Dean exhales and his shoulders drop. “Oh, Jesus, that’s—that’s it? That’s all you meant?”

“Yes. What did you think I was talking about?”

“I don’t know,” answers Dean. “I guess I just panicked. I don’t know what I thought.” 

Dean seems to be hiding something, but Castiel doesn’t dare pry. “I need to apologize,” he says. “I was angry with you and deliberately caused you pain that was unequal to the pain you caused me.” 

Dean’s attention snaps to Castiel. “What pain? Why were you angry? What did I do? I’m sorry.” It all comes out at once and Castiel needs a moment to decipher it. 

“Not physical pain,” he clarifies. “I was simply upset. I do not fully understand why, but—” 

“When were you upset?” 

Castiel sighs. “Yesterday. You refused to let me do my share of the work. It was frustrating, but I’m not sure I had a right to be frustrated.” 

“Shit. I didn’t even notice.” 

“Were you not then, mocking me for being too weak to assist when you thanked me for my help?”

Dean looks horrified. “Of course not!” 

From the living room, Bobby snores loudly.

Dean curses again. “Hang on.” He turns off the stove and dumps eggs and bacon onto large plates. He covers them, presumably to preserve the heat, then motions for Castiel to follow him to the front porch. 

Once they are outside, he speaks again. “Start from the beginning,” says Dean. “I thought we had a good time yesterday.” 

Castiel sighs. He doesn’t know where to begin. “I know it is not my place to contradict a human,” he says slowly, “but you and your family insist that I am in some way equal. I do not understand the extent of my equality and that is sometimes frustrating.” He crosses his arms over his chest, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I also suppose it was upsetting to be treated like I am fragile and damaged—too damaged to be useful.” He’s not sure if that makes sense, but the words make him feel the same anger he felt yesterday. 

“I don’t think you’re damaged,” says Dean. “You _are_ equal to me, in every way. Is that why you didn’t argue with me? You thought you didn’t have the right?” 

“No, I—I’m not sure, actually.” 

“You’re free to argue with me any time you want,” says Dean. “It doesn’t mean I won’t argue back, but that’s what people do when they’re, you know, when they—um—when they’re—when people spend a lot of time together.”

Castiel curls his wings around his shoulders. “I’m not sure my anger was justified.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” says Dean. “If I know you’re mad, I can talk to you and we can figure it out together. I didn’t even know you were mad yesterday.” 

“I broke Rule Three,” mutters Castiel. 

“Which one is that?” asks Dean. 

“No stewing.”

Dean laughs. “I break that rule a lot.” 

Dean’s laughter makes Castiel smile. “I am sorry I reacted so poorly.”

“You keep saying that,” says Dean. “What did you do? I don’t get what you’re apologizing for.” 

“For upsetting you,” says Castiel. “I told you, I did it on purpose. I knew asking about your mother would upset you and I did it with that deliberate intention.” 

“Cas, I say things just to piss people off all the time. It’s not a big deal.” 

“But I did not ‘piss you off’,” he raises his fingers to mimic quotation marks in the air. “I hurt your feelings. I caused you grief.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Life caused me grief, not you. Besides, you were nice about it at the end there. I guess you weren’t mad anymore?” 

“I was concerned when you stopped responding.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck like he is embarrassed. “Point is,” he says slowly, “if I piss you off, you tell me. We might argue, but that’s ok. And if you think I’m being a dumbass, you just tell Bobby and he’ll straighten us out.” 

“All right,” says Castiel. “I am sorry I was vindictive instead of honest.”

“It’s ok,” says Dean. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t useful or equal. I was worried you’d get hurt but you’re strong and I was stupid.” 

“Our friendship is still intact?” 

“Of course,” answers Dean. He takes a fraction of a step forward and his hands twitch at his sides. “Of course it is.”

A warm, tingling sensation spreads through Castiel, and it suddenly makes sense why Dean fears his family will withhold affection. Once experienced, it is a painful thing to lose. Castiel knew affection once. 

They stand in silence for a while, Dean’s green eyes searching Castiel for something. His hand moves forward, then falls back to his side, fingers clenched into a fist. 

Castiel watches him, and then curiously, Dean blushes. Castiel frowns, wondering if he can remedy the hunter’s struggle. “You have my permission,” he offers. 

Dean takes a deep breath, then raises his hand again, shaking. His gaze is intense, but all he does is brush Castiel’s hair back from his ear. 

The feeling is nice, so Castiel does the same to Dean. 

“So,” mummers Dean, “this isn’t weird for you, is it?” 

“It is new,” answers Castiel, “but many normal human interactions are new to me.” 

“Right,” says Dean. 

He drops his hand, so Castiel does the same.

“We should wake up Bobby before breakfast gets cold,” says Dean. 

Castiel nods and follows him back to the kitchen.

 

xxx

 

Bobby takes pictures of Castiel’s wings and sends them to Sam. The doctor says it can be unbound. Dean and Bobby work quickly to free the healed wing. 

The three of them stand in the back yard. Bobby and Dean insist on staying close. Castiel extends his good wing and flexes the muscles in the other. He extends it slowly. The joints are stiff from disuse. He opens it and for the first time in years, both wings are outstretched behind him. 

Dean is staring; eyes wide. 

Bobby smiles at him. “Sam says you have to stay grounded until he gets back.” It’s a warning and a reminder. “I’d appreciate it if you would resist the urge to fly for a few more days. I don’t want to explain to Dr. Winchester why I let his patient over-exert himself.”

Castiel is only half listening. “I understand,” he says. The wind blows through his feathers and the sun warms his stiff joints. He is free. 

Bobby says something to Dean, then leaves.

Castiel tilts his head back to face the sun. He rolls his shoulders again. Decades. It’s been decades since he felt this way. Memories that he kept sequestered in his mind gush forward. He doesn’t have many, but for the moment, the good memories overwhelm the bad and all that matters is life as it is right now. 

“Feel better?” asks Dean. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “Better” does not begin to describe the way he feels. 

“You’ve only got two days left.” 

“I know,” answers Castiel. 

“Are you still,” begins Dean, “do you want—what do you want to do?” 

“Fly,” answers Castiel. He lowers his head to face Dean. “You were right. I no longer want to die.” He retracts his wings, then flares them out again. He feels strong, is strong. He is stronger than his captor. An old power surges through his veins. Grace. It’s never felt this potent. For the first time, he feels like a real angel. His life is suddenly heavy with potential and purpose. 

“Are you going to leave?” asks Dean. 

“I believe my owner has captured another angel,” says Castiel. “He was looking for a female to breed with me.” He told Jessica this information and expected her to tell the others, but Dean looks surprised. Perhaps Jessica kept his secrets. “I cannot allow myself to become complacent while another angel suffers at his hands,” he says. He doesn’t realize his plan until he says it aloud. 

Now that he is strong, he has a responsibility. He can help. He has to help. It is selfish for him to waste away and wait for death when he has this potential. Dean knew. Dean must have known this would happen. 

“You can’t take him on alone,” says Dean. 

“I can,” says Castiel. “I was a child when he captured us. As I grew, he kept me in a weakened state. I am stronger than I’ve ever been and I have nothing to lose.” 

“I don’t…” begins Dean. 

Dean doesn’t want him to leave. They are friends. Castiel does not want to leave Dean either, but he has to do this alone. 

“This is justice, Dean. I need to do it.” 

“I’ll go with you,” says Dean. 

“You can’t. Would you want me to assist you while you fought the demon who killed your family?” 

“That’s different,” answers Dean. “That’s personal. It’s a family issue.” 

“This is personal for me,” says Castiel. He needs to know he can do this on his own. “I need to do this alone—for my family and my dignity.” He hopes Dean will understand. 

“Will you come back?” 

“If I am still welcome.” Castiel is going to kill the hunter who murdered his family. 

“You better come back,” says Dean. “You’ll always be welcome here. No matter what.” 

Castiel realizes he wants to return. He wants to see these people again. He wants to see Dean again. “I would like to leave now, before Bobby finds a way to keep me grounded.” 

Dean clenches his jaw like he wants to say something, but is stopping himself. 

Castiel recognizes that look. He moves forward and so does Dean. He rests a hand on Dean’s cheek and hopes the gesture is still comforting. 

“I do not want Bobby or Sam to be angry with you for letting me go,” he says quietly. “I will be back soon.” He lets the fragile tendrils of his power seep from his skin and into Dean. “I’m sorry.” 

Dean’s eyes roll back and Castiel catches him as his knees buckle. He lowers Dean into the grass in a position he hopes is not uncomfortable. He does not have time to linger. He spreads his wings, stretches them toward the sky, and takes off.

 

xxx

 

Castiel twirls a white feather between his fingers. The house is abandoned. He stands in the living room, a place he never saw when he lived here. He has not entered the silo yet. A twisted little part of him is afraid it will feel like home. 

It took him almost 12 hours to fly here. It’s slow for an angel, but he did not crash so he considers it a bitter success. 

Castiel holds the feather against his chest as though it will give him strength. He forces himself to enter the hunter’s bedroom. When he sees them, he stops. 

His father’s wings are black, like his. They glitter with greens and purples in the sunlight that pours though the window. They are spread as wide as the room will allow with wire protruding from between the feathers so they hang on the wall. 

Castiel raises a trembling hand as he approaches. He strokes the long primary feathers. They are dusty, but still soft. The hunter cared for them. 

He undoes the wires and hooks and pins that hold the wings to the wall. He works quickly. Once his growing rage erupts, Castiel will not be able to be gentle. 

When the wings are free, he folds them at their joints, surprised and sickened to find they still bend. He carries them from the house and sets them on a blanket he has spread out in the front yard. He places the white feather into a pile of other feathers; a small monument to his fallen kin. 

He returns to the house. Once he is certain there is nothing left to save, he begins to destroy. His fury blinds him as he breaks and throws the hunters possessions. He creates a pile of what he hopes are things the hunter loved, pictures, papers, keepsakes, and tosses a match onto the heap. 

The flame does not explode in the satisfying way Castiel hoped it would, but that doesn’t matter. The slow burn is satisfying in its own right. He watches; making sure the flame will grow large enough to sustain it self, then leaves. 

He goes to the silo. He knows he needs to be quick. The smoke will attract attention eventually. The fire is his excuse not to linger. He should have gone to his cage first, but when he saw the state of the property, he knew the hunter had not returned. He knew there was no one to rescue. Now it’s just Castiel alone with his thoughts.

He tugs the door open, braced for the onslaught of memories, but nothing happens. The smell is familiar. The interior is familiar, though he rarely saw it with this much light. The door was never open very long. Some natural light managed to get in though narrow openings at the top, but it was never enough to illuminate the entire cage. 

He goes inside and trails his fingers over a stain on the wall. He’s certain it’s his blood. It’s a remnant of some lesson Castiel never learned. He finds the worn patch of dirt where he use to sleep and sits down. He shifts his wings as he sits. Their new freedom is surreal to experience in this place. He forces himself to cycles through the memories. They come in slow, oozing phases. Everyday was the same in this place. His memories bleed together to form one long, endless nightmare. 

Something like an explosion echoes through the silo. The fire must have reached the gunpowder. It will reach the cage soon. 

Castiel doesn’t move. The air is thick with the ghosts of his past. He lies down in the dirt. It was less than a month ago that Sam and Bobby found him like this. He was delirious, hungry and broken. Since they found him, he’s become someone his former self would never recognize. 

The silo is warmer now. He can smell the smoke and hear the crackling of flames as the fire approaches. 

He doesn’t move. A part of him needs to die here. When he leaves, he will not bring these memories with him. They will stay and burn with the rest of this place. 

The fire has reached the cage. He can see the flames. He waits. Another explosion from the house fuels the fire. Heat surrounds him. Castiel closes his eyes, breathing in smoke and ash. He stays until the fire engulfs him. It burns his feathers and melts his skin. 

Once the pain begins to seep down to his bones, Castiel stands and walks to the center of the cage. The smoke stings his eyes as he watches his home—his prison—blister and warp around him. He embraces the pain. As the fire claws at his skin, his grace works to repair it. He can feel his feathers disintegrate, then grow back again. He burns until the shell of his old body is gone, then steps forward from the flames. 

His skin smokes and hisses as he collects what is left of the others who died here. He wraps the feathers securely in the blanket along with his father’s wings. He leaves the house and silo to burn and does not look back. 


	15. Sweet Dreams

Dean wakes up in his bed in Bobby’s house. He’s sweating and it takes a second for him to remember where he is. Cas must have knocked him out. Bobby must have dragged him inside. 

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s dizzy. Bobby’s on the phone downstairs. Dean follows the sound of his voice. 

Bobby apparently hears him coming down the stairs. “He’s awake. I’ll meet you there.” He hangs up. 

“Was that Sam?” asks Dean.

“Yeah. He and Jess are about to take off. They’re on a flight to Seattle. I’m going to meet them at the place where we found Castiel.” 

“How long was I out?” 

“Few hours,” answers Bobby. “Long enough to give Castiel a head-start.” 

“He went back,” says Dean. 

“No shit,” says Bobby. 

“He’s worried the hunter might be holding another angel.” 

“I know,” says Bobby. “And I know you’ve been covering for him and I know why. You’re going to wait here in case he comes back, but I’ve got to get going.” 

“I’m coming too,” says Dean. 

“What did I just say?” 

“You might need backup,” says Dean. 

“I’ve got the jolly green giant and his wife for backup, _if_ I need it.” 

Bobby grabs a bag from the living room and heads outside. Dean follows him to his pickup. 

“I told Sam you deleted that email,” says Bobby. “He hadn’t deleted the files yet so he sent it to me. I was pissed at first, because there’s a lot of shit on there I needed to know. But then I saw you two out by the fence the other day and…” Bobby tosses his bag into the back of the truck. “The point is I’m not mad. You made a friend and that’s good for you. It’s probably good for both of you.” 

Dean doesn’t say anything. 

“I’m not mad,” repeats Bobby. “I’m frustrated, but I’m not mad.” He glances at Dean. “Say something, boy, don’t leave me talking to myself.” 

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times but nothing comes out. 

“Jesus Christ,” says Bobby. “You’re speechless. I’m going to remember this. Dean fucking Winchester is speechless.” 

“Cas knocked me out,” says Dean. That’s it. That’s all he’s got. 

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

“He didn’t want you to get mad at me for letting him go.” 

“Guess he likes you,” says Bobby. “I haven’t told Sam about your relationship.” 

“It’s not a relationship,” spits Dean. 

Bobby shoots Dean a sideways glance. “Well, whatever it is, I haven’t told your brother. But,” He checks to make sure Dean is paying attention, “I think it’s important that you tell him. He’ll be supportive. You know how Sam is.” 

Dean covers his face with one hand. He’s fighting nausea, embarrassment, and worry. For once he finds himself wishing he was back in bed with his nightmares. “There’s nothing to tell,” he says finally. “We’re friends, I guess.” 

“Considering you’re you,” says Bobby, “that’s something to tell.” He chuckles to himself. “So what’s Castiel’s plan? Did he give you details?” 

“No,” answers Dean. 

Bobby tries for more answers, but Dean can’t help him. At this point, everyone knows as much as he does. He’s not even sure Cas went in with a plan. Bobby leaves, and he doesn’t seem entirely convinced that Dean’s telling him the whole story. 

Dean goes back inside to wait. He spends the first few hours in Bobby’s office looking for information on the hunter who was holding Cas. He finds a few notes and figures the rest must be in Bobby’s room. He spends the rest of the day digging through things he’s not suppose to touch and another hour trying to crack the code on the safe. He’s unsuccessful. Bobby probably took the important stuff with him. Frustrated, he goes upstairs and flops down on his bed. It’s dark outside. He doesn’t mean to get comfortable. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

He dreams of his home—of John and Mary and Sam—of the fire—of the demon who destroyed their lives. The fire permeates through the dream and into his bed. Smoke seeps into his pillow and blanket. The smell is still present as he jolts awake. 

It’s early. The sun is just beginning to creep through the curtains. The rays are enough to give away the silhouette of someone standing in the doorway. The outline isn’t human. Dean recognizes Cas’ wings first. 

“Hello Dean,” says Castiel. His voice is hoarse and quiet. 

Dean gets out of bed and flicks on the light. As he approaches, it becomes clear that Cas is the source of the smell of smoke in the room. The angel is covered in ash. His wings are matted with gray flecks and his arms are blistered. His borrowed pants are torn and his bare chest is too covered in grime to pick out injuries. If that son of a bitch hurt Cas then Dean’s going to kill him. 

“What happened?” asks Dean. 

“He wasn’t there,” answers Cas. “I destroyed his home.” 

Dean moves in closer and reaches his hand out. “Your arms,” he says. The hunter wasn't there. Cas did this to himself.

Cas holds up both arms for Dean to inspect. He’s covered in second and third degree burns. “They will heal quickly,” he says. 

“Can you make it down to the rec room?” asks Dean. “What we need is already down there.” 

“Yes,” answers Cas. 

He doesn’t look steady and he’s too pale. Dean goes ahead of him down the stairs, prepared to brace himself to break Cas’ fall, should he stumble. They make it into the basement in one piece.

Dean turns on the freestanding shower and turns the temperature to something that won’t aggravate Cas’ burns. He motions for the angel to stand under the water. 

“Does that hurt your arms?” he asks. 

“No,” answers Castiel. 

Dean doesn’t miss the shiver that runs though Cas’ body and into his wings. “I know it’s too cold,” he says. “You don’t have to stay under there long. I just want to get you clean.” 

“The temperature is fine,” says Cas. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Do you need help with your wings?” he asks. 

At that, both wings twitch and the feathers ruffle. Cas turns to face Dean, his back to the water. “I—no,” he stammers. 

“I’ll be careful,” says Dean. “You can’t reach them on your own, can you?” 

Cas glances at his back as though debating whether or not this is a task he can complete. 

“I know wings are—um—personal,” says Dean, “but I don’t mind helping.” 

Cas chews his bottom lip. He looks to Dean and nods slowly. 

“I’ll be careful,” Dean says again. “Any burns I should know about?” 

Cas shakes his head. 

Dean circles around him to work on the back of the wings first. He uses his fingers instead of a cloth so he can feel for damage. He combs through the long black feathers several times to shake out the ashes. He tries to be quick. Cas stays very still for the whole ordeal. It’s the second time he’s had a Winchester messing with his wings and he’s no more at ease than he was when Sam did it.  

By the time Dean moves to the front of the wings, he’s drenched and shivering. “Almost done,” says Dean. He knows Cas must be cold too. 

“All right,” mutters Cas. He’s watching Dean with an expression somewhere between flustered and woozy. 

Humans don’t touch angel wings. They are sacred, intimate, beautiful. That’s why hunters keep them as trophies. Dean knows that. He’s trying not to think about it right now. He buries his fingers into the feathers, working his way from the end of the wings up to Cas’ shoulder. Sam was so much more efficient when he did this. 

Cas jumps when Dean reaches the smaller, softer feathers at the base of the wings. “Sorry,” mutters Dean. He doesn’t try to make eye contact and neither does the angel. 

He finishes one and moves on to the other, again working his way from the end of the wing, back toward Cas’ shoulder. This time, when Cas jumps, Dean looks and their eyes lock. Dean is frozen to the spot. Feathers ruffle beneath his hands. He takes a sharp inhale. “Done,” he says, and despite himself, he takes Cas by the hands and pulls him out from under the spray. 

He shuts off the water, grabs several towels and a pair of pants from the closet. He sets them in a stack in front of the angel. “You should dry off and get changed,” he says. “I’m going to get bandages and burn ointment.” He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before leaving. He’s sure Sam keeps the rec room stocked with medical supplies. It’s got everything else, but Dean can’t stay in there. 

He gives Cas enough time to change before heading back. Dean calls out about halfway down the stairs to let him know he’s coming. “Hey Cas, you dressed?” 

“Yes,” he answers. 

Dean enters and dumps an armful of supplies on the bed. He pulls up a stool and instructs Cas to sit. “How are you feeling?” asks Dean. 

“Better,” he answers. 

“I’m going to apply ointment, then wrap your arms. We’ll leave them bandaged until Sam gets here. The gauze is light, but don’t pick at it or you’ll pull the skin underneath it.” 

“Where is Bobby?” asks Cas. 

Shit. He forgot to tell the others Cas was back. “He, Sam and Jess went to look for you in Washington,” answers Dean. “I’ve got to call them and tell them you came back.” 

“Jessica knew my plan,” says Cas. “She knew where to find me. Though I suppose that would be the first logical place to look.” 

“You worried she ratted you out—er—told them your plan?” 

“I expected her to. I didn’t tell her anything secret.” 

“Oh,” says Dean. He’s curious now. What does Cas consider secret? He takes some ointment in his hand and nods to Cas’ arms. “You mind?” 

Cas lifts one arm and watches as Dean treats, then wraps the burns. Dean does the same to the other arm, then busies himself washing his hands. Cas doesn’t smell like soot anymore. He smells like honey and clover and rain. The scent is subtle, but Dean is consumed by it. He turns back to the angel and puts on his best everything’s-fine-I’m-not-trying-to-perv-on-you face. 

“Thank you for your help,” says Castiel. 

“You’re welcome,” says Dean. He clears his throat and tries not to look at the way Cas’ wings glimmer with the remaining beads of water. He fails. 

Of course Cas notices him looking. “I would like to go outside so my wings can dry.” 

“Do you want to go alone, or do you want me to go with you?” _That’s a stupid fucking question._  

“You trust me to go alone?” asks Cas. 

“I trust you to do whatever you want,” answers Dean. 

“I would like to go alone,” answers Cas. “Does that offend you?” 

 _Yes._  

“No,” answers Dean. “I’ll call the others and tell them you’re safe.” 

He doesn’t follow the angel outside, but he does position himself by an upstairs window overlooking the pasture. He should call, but he shoots Sam a text instead. 

** _Cas his here. Says he destroyed the house. He’s safe._ ** 

He watches the angel lie on his stomach in the grass and unfurl his wings. Dean rests his head against the warm windowpane and imagines he’s outside with Cas. Sam’s reply jerks him from the daydream. 

** _Fuck. Really? We’re almost there. Bobby’s en route. I’ll tell him. We’ll all head back to Sioux Falls tomorrow._ ** 

Dean doesn’t send a response. He gets up and tosses his phone onto his bed and deliberately forgets about it. It’s lunchtime. Cas will be hungry soon. He goes down to the kitchen and paws through Bobby’s fridge. Dean settles on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—mostly because that’s all he can make with what he finds. Bobby’s never been great about stocking up on groceries. 

He takes his time making sandwiches and eating one. He’s not sure how long Cas wants to be alone. Dean decides to clean the kitchen and make a grocery list to distract himself. An hour later, Dean wonders if angels can get sun burned. He decides that’s a reasonable excuse to check. He takes Cas’ sandwich and a glass of water outside. 

Cas is still lying in the grass. 

Dean sets the plate and glass on the table. He struggles with himself for a moment. He should respect Cas’ space. He shouldn't hover. Suddenly, his decision is made fore him. 

Cas’ wings twitch and begin to retract only flare out again. 

Dean recognizes that. He’s seen the angels do it when they’re trying to threaten their opponent. He creeps quickly, but cautiously over to Cas. As he suspected, the angel is sleeping. This must be the beginning of a nightmare. He crouches down. “Hey Cas?” he says. “Can you hear me?” He leans in closer. 

Cas’ face is twisted and tense with emotion. His arms are above his head in the grass, unmoving, but his fists are clenched. 

Dean lets out a breath and extends his hand. He lets it rest on Cas’ cheek. Cas’ eyes move beneath his lids and Dean’s not sure if that’s good or bad. He decides to try plan B. He hums. He’s quiet at first, self-conscious, but the angel’s wings move again and Dean knows he has to be louder if he wants to reach him. He starts singing the words to _Hey Jude._ He starts rocking back and forth and moves his fingers through Castiel’s dark hair. He remembers his mother. He tries to channel the tranquility her memory brings—use it to calm his friend. 

It works. After a minute, Cas stops twitching and relaxes. Dean lowers himself so he’s lying eye-level in front of the angel. He’s still stroking Cas’ hair, still singing softly. 

Cas’ hands are resting between them. His fists unclench and his breathing slows. He uncurls his fingers and moves his hand to rest on Dean’s arm. He tilts his head to face Dean. He blinks sluggishly. “Hello Dean,” he says. 

Dean grins. “Hey Cas.” He swallows hard. “This—is this ok?” 

“Yes.” Cas trails his fingers along Dean’s arm. “Perhaps I should have let you do this sooner.” 

“You want to talk about it?” asks Dean. “Your dream? You don’t have to, just—if you want to, I’ll listen.” 

A frown ghosts across Cas’ face. “Not right now. I’d rather not spoil the moment.” 

Dean’s heart speeds up. “Are we having a moment, Cas?” It’s a stupid question, but he needs to know if this means to Cas what it means to him. Is Dean just comforting a friend, or is Cas’ heart also trying to beat its way out of his chest? Part of him doesn’t want an answer. Part of him wants to stay like this forever, perfectly preserved in hope. 

“What constitutes a moment?” asks Cas. 

Dean laughs, because of course that’s the answer he gets. “Never mind,” he says. “You hungry? I made you a sandwich, but it’s been sitting out for a while. I’ll make you a fresh one, or I could make you something else. What do you like? We don’t have a lot of options, but I can get creative.” He fills the air with something more mundane to keep himself from asking what he really wants to know. He’s still stroking Cas’ hair and Cas is still touching his arm. 

A little crease forms between Cas’ eyebrows. “Why do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“Ask me something then change the subject.” 

A shiver goes through Dean’s body. _Because I’m not brave enough to ask the question twice._ “I don’t know,” he answers. 

Cas stares at him, decoding him again. “I believe we are having a moment,” he says. 

“I guess we are,” says Dean. He tries not to make it significant. Cas doesn’t know what he’s saying. The angel doesn’t understand. 

“I did not have nightmares when I spent the night in your cabin,” says Cas. “I believe we had a moment then as well.”

They’ve had this conversation before. “I didn’t have nightmares either,” he says. 

“And did we have a moment?” asks Cas. 

As far as Dean can tell, he’s completely serious. “Yeah,” answers Dean. “I think we did.” 

“And when we were mending the fence?” 

“Also a moment,” confirms Dean. 

Cas’ frown fades into a smile. “Then a moment must be a period of gentleness and affection between friends.”

“That’s accurate,” says Dean. He’s not going to read into the use of the words “affection” and “friends.” He’s pushing his luck as it is. Granted, they’re laying together in the pasture and Dean can’t fucking stop running his fingers through

Cas’ hair, but Cas is touch-starved. He doesn’t understand the significance. “You want a sandwich?” 

Cas sighs. “Yes.” 

Dean is reluctant to pull away, but he manages. He pushes himself to his feet then offers a hand to Cas. The angel accepts and they return to the house.


	16. I'm bad too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I've been struggling with the plot. The writer half of me was like "give them hell! it'll be a better story!" and the fangirl half of me was like "no! my babies!"
> 
> It worked itself out in the end. Thanks for reading!

The day drags by, lazy and peaceful. Dean makes spaghetti for dinner. He uses teaching Cas how to twirl the pasta as an excuse to sit close to him. He tells himself he’s not a creep, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s preying upon Cas’ naiveté about human interactions. He’s been toying with an idea all afternoon, but has yet to actually nut-up and suggest it. He can’t figure out how to ask Cas to sleep in his room without sounding like a 12-year-old. Evening arrives too soon and he follows Cas upstairs to their respective bedrooms. 

“Dean,” Cas pauses outside of his room and reaches into his pocket, “I thought you might need this.” Cas extends his hand to reveal Dean’s flask. 

“Where did you get that?” asks Dean. He takes it and shakes the container. It’s still full. 

“Bobby’s safe,” answers Cas. 

“How?” 

“I know his combination,” answers Cas.

Of fucking course Cas knows the combination. Dean takes a drink, and holy shit it’s liquid sanctuary wrapped in silver. He licks his lips. It’s not enough to kick off his normal midnight buzz, but that first burn of whiskey is a long exhale after a hard days work.

“I know it’s bad for your health,” says Cas. “I believe I am ‘enabling’ you, but you helped me leave. This is the least I can do.” 

“Thank you,” says Dean. He runs his thumb over the initials “J.W.” inscribed into the metal on the back of the flask. It’s a security blanket—a crutch. He knows that. It was probably a crutch for John too. He takes another pull, then extends the flask to the angel. 

Cas frowns at it like it’s a puzzle. 

“Just take a sip,” says Dean. “Don’t make me drink alone.” He flashes a grin usually reserved for waitresses on lonely nights just before closing time. He can’t fucking help himself.

Cas accepts and takes a timid sip. He hands the flask back to Dean and seems to be concentrating on the liquid in his mouth. 

“You’ve got to swallow it,” says Dean. 

Cas does, and makes a face. “The liquid is not hot, but it burns,” he says. 

“It’s suppose to,” says Dean. 

“I’d like to try more.” 

Dean offers him the flask again, but Cas shakes his head. 

“I procured several bottles from the safe, as well as your possessions. They are in your room.” 

Dean whips around and pushes the door open. Cas isn’t lying. His gear, the rest of his clothing, and car keys are sitting in the middle of his bed, along with two bottles of Bobby’s secret stash. “When?” asks Dean. 

“While you were preparing dinner,” answers Cas. 

Dean turns to face the angel and something in him cracks. Cas even brought up his weapons; everything from guns to acid. Cas must know Dean’s used these things to inflict the same torture Cas’ captor inflicted on him. Jesus Christ. Cas trusts him. He shouldn’t. Why would he? No one else does. 

“Would you still like some company while you drink?” asks Cas. 

“Yeah,” he stammers. “Of course.” 

_Real smooth, Winchester._

Dean finally realizes Cas is waiting for him to move so they can go into the room. He goes over to the bed and grabs a bottle. 

Cas eyes a spot on the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” answers Dean. “Get comfortable.” 

Cas perches at the foot of the bed with his wings trailing on the floor.

Dean uncorks the bottle and hands it to Cas. “Here’s to being grounded,” he says. He clinks his flask against the bottle, and drinks. 

Cas watches him, then does the same. 

“This is called a toast,” says Dean. “You drink to commemorate something and clink your glasses together.” 

“Humans do this?” 

“Yeah,” answers Dean.

Cas takes another drink, deeper than the one before. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sighs like he’s been holding his breath. “I would like to talk with you,” he says. “You allowed me to pry into your past. It is only fair I do the same for you.” 

Dean tries to mask his excitement with surprise. “You don’t have to,” he says, “but I’ll listen to anything you’re willing to share.” 

Cas takes another drink and his wings move to shelter his shoulders. 

“How about I ask some questions and you answer if you feel like it?” 

Cas bobs his head. 

“How old were you when you were captured?” asks Dean. It’s not the best question, but it’s what he thinks to ask first. 

“Eight,” answers Cas. 

It’s Dean’s turn to take a drink. He empties the flask. “What happened to your dad?” 

A frown pulls at Cas’ lips and he drinks too. “He died.” He closes his eyes, scowling at the memory. “My owner—”

“Kidnapper,” corrects Dean. 

“My kidnapper—he believed he could train us to obey him.” Another drink. “My father was already weakened during the capture. He—” Cas clears his throat. “My father did not survive the training. He was strong—rebellious—but the hunter used my safety as an ultimatum and in the end, it broke him. I loved him as you loved your mother.” 

Dean cracks open the remaining bottle. Cas’ grip is white-knuckled around the neck of the other one. 

“I’m sorry you lost him,” says Dean. “What was he like before?” 

Castiel sighs. “Kind.” He drinks. “He used to say I was just like my mother, but I like to think I was more like him.” Another sigh. “I think look like him.” 

“His real form or like the human he possessed?” A chill runs through him. He knows that was the wrong thing to say, but he can’t take it back. 

Cas clenches his jaw. “I never knew his angelic form,” he whispers.

Dean knows he should apologize. He needs to make this right before it gets worse, but he can’t find the words. Instead all he does is wonder if Cas’ father matches a description for a missing person.

“You think he was a monster,” mutters Cas. 

“No,” says Dean. 

 _Yes._  

“You thought I was a monster.” 

“I—yeah.” 

Cas stares down at the whiskey in his hands. “I’ve never been to the realm of angels and demons. I don’t know what they look like. My father was banished for loving a human. He was not a monster, but he did bad things.” 

“Like?” 

Cas drinks again, deep and anxious. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’m afraid you would hate him, if you knew.” 

“I won’t.” That’s not a promise Dean can actually keep, but he says it anyway. 

“What do you know about my kind?” asks Cas. He leans forward, blue eyes wide and focused. “Do you know about the war?” 

“Kind of,” answers Dean. At this point he’s just relieved Cas is still willing to talk to him. “I know angels fight demons and sometimes they come into our world and take over humans.” 

“Angels and demons have been at war for a long time. In your dimension, it equates to centuries.” His brow furrows. “I was too young to understand. My education comes partially from my father and partially from my ow—my kidnapper.” 

“I only know what my dad and grandpa told me,” says Dean. Mary’s father was a hunter. He told Sam and Dean stories about monsters he’d killed and people he’d saved. In the end, he went the way of most hunters and drank himself to death. 

“I know there is a small faction that fights, or fought, to protect humanity,” continues Cas. “Your species is weaker; therefore some believe we have a responsibility to protect you when the war bleeds into your world.” Cas bites his lip. “The majority, however, use human bodies to either flee the war and start a new life, or to simply feed off of their energy to become stronger.” He’s not making eye contact anymore. “I very much want to believe that my father fought to save your kind.” 

“But?” Dean’s not sure if he said that out loud. He hopes he didn’t. 

“But, he died before I was old enough to hear his story.” Cas’ eyes are glassy. Dean’s not sure if it’s liquor or emotion. 

“He left his home to be with my mother,” whispers Cas. “He loved her. I killed her. She was the first human I killed. He could not return home because I was too human and he could not live as a human because I am obviously something else.” Cas finally looks up at Dean again. “As I understand it, most humans do not know angels and demons exist.”

Dean nods. Very few know the truth.

“He killed many hunters in order to keep me safe. When we were finally captured, he was still injured from an earlier fight. The hunter took me first, threatened me, and my father surrendered.” 

Dean doesn’t know how to form his next question. Cas said his mother was the _first_ human life he took. Were there others?

“I know why you hunt us,” says Castiel. “In some respect, we are monsters. We are creatures of death and destruction. We take your loved ones and use them for our own gain. Angels and demons cannot live in your world without a vessel. You sacrifice for our benefit.” Tears begin rolling down his cheeks slow and reluctant. “The strong have a duty to defend the weak. I was weak for so long. I thought only of defending myself.” He takes another drink and almost drains the bottle. “I never tried to save them.” 

Dean sets his own bottle on the bedside table, then leans in to extract the other bottle. Without taking his eyes off of Cas, Dean pulls the whiskey away and sets it beside the other. 

“Save who, Cas?”

Cas doesn’t answer. He leans forward, head in his hands, trembling. 

Rule One be damned. Dean crawls over to sit beside the angel and wraps a tentative arm around him. Cas flinches, so Dean begins rubbing slow circles against Cas’ skin with his thumb.

“I don’t deserve this,” whispers Cas. 

“Don’t deserve what?” he asks gently. 

“Kindness, patience, a second chance.” He turns to Dean, a pleading look in his eyes. “He brought them into the cage, they were so broken, and I just watched them die. He’d tell me their stories before he did it—who they were and what took them—and I just watched.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he pulls Cas closer and pets his hair. 

Cas pushes against him. “You don’t understand what I’m saying, do you?” 

He doesn’t, but at the same time, he doesn’t care. Cas is hurting. That’s all he knows. 

“He brought in humans, like you and your family,” says Castiel. “They were possessed, then abandoned. They’d gone mad—they begged for help and I did nothing. He gave me a chance to save them and I just listened until they stopped screaming. ” 

Dean goes for broke and pulls the angel in again. “Be quiet, Cas,” he whispers. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I don’t deserve this,” Cas repeats, but he lets Dean hold him. 

Dean pulls Cas’ head down to rest against his shoulder, then he leans in and presses a kiss against his temple. “I don’t deserve this either.” 

The angel is quiet, but still shaking. Dean argues with himself for a moment. He has an idea that will either help or hurt. Cas seems so distraught he decides to risk it. 

Dean pulls away from Cas and reaches for the bag containing the acid. Most of his weapons are still on the bed where Cas left them. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of feathers. He’s holding around twenty and that’s not even his total body count. He has nothing to show for the demons. He extends his hand to Cas. “I’m bad too,” he mutters. 

Cas looks from Dean to the feathers for a moment, before taking them into his own hands. He runs his fingers over the frayed places. His lips are parted, but he’s not speaking. 

“I never asked if they were trying to save us,” says Dean. “Plenty of them begged.” His voice cracks and he tries again. “They begged me to let them go—even the demons—and I didn’t.” 

Castiel still isn’t speaking. He pulls away from Dean again, feathers clutched to his chest, gets off of the bed, and leaves the room. 

Dean doesn’t go after him. He knew it was a risk. He knew better than to hope for forgiveness. He’s crying and he’s not sure why. At least Cas is angry instead of depressed. Dean would give anything to never see that hopeless look on Cas’ face again. 

Something scraps against the hallway floor and Dean starts when he sees Cas standing at his door again. He’s clutching two massive black wings. 

“Will you help me?” he asks. 

Dean scrambles from the bed. 

Cas takes a step back into the hall. “The feathers are in the blanket,” he says. 

Dean steps out of the room and sees a bundle on the floor. It’s too big to just hold the feathers he gave to Cas. He feels a chill again, and realizes these must have come from the other hunter’s house. The wings Cas is holding are his father’s. 

“What are we doing?” asks Dean. 

“I’d like to burn these,” answers Cas. “Your feathers are wrapped separately, if you wish to keep them.” 

“No,” says Dean quickly. “I want to burn them, but what about the wings?” 

“I do not want to remember him this way,” Cas answers. 

Dean can’t argue with that. “Hang on,” he says. He goes back to his room and pockets John’s flask. He returns to the hall and grabs the blanket. “Ok,” he says. “I’m ready.” He’s not sure if it’s just the liquor talking, but this feels right. He follows Cas outside and they search for a place to build the fire. 

They settle on a dusty section of the dirt road and work quickly to create a pit. Cas creates a rock barrier. He’s stronger and faster than Dean, so Dean busies himself with collecting wood. In the center of the pyre, he sets John’s flask. Castiel watches him, but doesn’t say anything. 

Dean retrieves the lighter fluid while Cas begins arranging feathers among the wood. He lays the wings at the top. 

Dean douses the pyre until it reeks of gas. He knows he’s had too much to drink to do this safely, but his blood is boiling now and he doesn’t care. He just hopes the fire will burn hot enough to destroy everything. He strikes a match and throws it into the pile. Cas grabs him around the waist and pulls him back as pyre explodes. 

For one brief moment, he’s cocooned in darkness, shielded from the heat by Castiel’s wings. He doesn’t touch them. He just stays very still where he is pressed close to Cas’ body. 

Then Cas opens his wings. The flames lick against the sky in an inferno towering at least 20 feet. The heat stings Dean’s face where he stands, still in Cas’ arms. 

Cas stares into the flames until Dean pulls him away so they can sit in the grass and watch their memories burn. 

They keep watch through the night in a strange silent reverence. In the early morning, the last embers of the fire are still glowing and all that remains are fragments of bone and a warped scrap of metal. They extinguish the coals and then bury the whole thing; erasing all evidence that the pit ever existed. 

When Dean finally returns to his room to sleep, Cas follows. They curl together in bed without a word, and Cas rests against Dean’s chest, one wing draped over the hunter’s body. Dean doesn’t know if this is forgiveness, but it sure as hell’s not shame.


	17. A moment

Castiel reaches Bobby’s by the next morning. The house is quiet. He goes to his room and tucks wings and feathers into the small closet across from his bed. He should be spent, but even after the flight home, adrenalin is still surging through his body. He goes to Dean’s room. 

His friend is asleep, curled onto his side, hand holding the bed sheet in a death grip. Castiel moves to touch him, but stops. He can do more than that. He can heal. He lifts his hand and urges a wisp of grace to ease Dean’s body and mind. 

It works because Castiel is more angel than mongrel. He can heal and fight and fly. He is in control. He wonders if his father would be proud of him. 

Dean stirs and blinks heavily against the morning sunlight. 

“Hello Dean,” says Castiel. 

Dean frowns. He gets up slowly and turns on a light near his bed. The crease in his brow deepens as he looks over Castiel. “What happened?” he asks. 

“He wasn’t there,” answers Castiel. “I destroyed his home.” 

Dean steps closer. His scowl relaxes, but does not go away. He reaches out for Castiel. “Your arms,” he says. 

Castiel extends his arms so Dean can see them better. “These will heal quickly.” It’s true. His skin has already healed significantly since he left the fire. 

Dean doesn’t seem to be listening. “Can you make it down to the rec room?” he asks. “What we need is already down there.” 

“Yes,” answers Castiel, not certain what it is Dean needs. 

Castiel follows Dean to the basement. Dean glances back over his shoulder every few steps like he’s checking to make sure Castiel doesn’t vanish. When they reach the recovery room, Dean turns on the shower and beckons Castiel to stand under the water. 

“Does that hurt your arms?” asks Dean. 

“No,” answers Castiel. He shivers. The water is cold, but mercifully calming against his burns. 

“I know it’s too cold,” says Dean. “You don’t have to stay under there long. I just want to get you clean.” 

“The temperature is fine,” says Castiel. Dean is healing him. Dean is worried about him. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Do you need help with your wings?” 

Castiel jumps and gapes at Dean. He cannot let a hunter touch his wings. But Dean is not a hunter. Dean is his friend. “I—no,” he says, when he finally manages to speak. 

“I’ll be careful,” says Dean. “You can’t reach them on your own, can you?” 

Castiel glances over his shoulder. Scorched feathers and ash coat his wings. Help would be nice. Sam cleaned his wings and it was not bad. Dean will be careful. He knows Dean will be careful. 

“I know wings are—um—personal,” says Dean, “but I don’t mind helping.” 

Castiel had not even considered that. When Sam cleaned his wings Castiel was too angry and disconnected to register the invasion of privacy. His only memories of hunters and wings are painful, but he needs to replace those memories, doesn’t he? Perhaps Dean will touch his wings in that soft, gentle way he touches Castiel’s cheek. He unexpectedly finds himself _wanting_ Dean to touch them. He nods slowly.

“I’ll be careful,” Dean repeats. “Any burns I should know about?”

Castiel shakes his head. 

Dean steps behind him. The first touch is cautious, as promised. Castiel remembers the way his owner would stroke his wings. It was not gentle. He would card his fingers through Castiel’s damaged wings, plucking out broken feathers, or feathers he wanted to keep and add to his collection. Dean’s touch is nothing like his owner’s. 

Dean runs his fingers through the feathers in a slow, thorough manner. Castiel cannot focus on anything other than the way it feels to have Dean’s hands on him. He’s never felt this before. He forgets the cold water and his aching skin and loses himself to Dean’s touch. 

Dean speaks. Was it a question? He moves around to the front of the wings. 

“All right,” mutters Castiel. The moment Dean touches him again he’s transfixed. Dean’s fingers disappear beneath the black plumage as he works. Castiel watches the entire process and should not be surprised when Dean reaches the base of his wing. He flinches as a little shock pulses through him. His wings are most sensitive where they connect to his back.

“Sorry,” mutters Dean, blushing. 

Dean was a hunter. Of course he knows the anatomy of wings. Castiel tries to look away. Dean must know exactly what he’s doing, what Castiel is feeling. 

He finishes the first, then moves on to groom the other wing. Castiel fights hard not to look at him this time. For some reason, watching makes the sensation more intense. He does not notice how close Dean is until he feels fingers slide through the feathers near his back. He jumps and looks to the side just as Dean looks at him. 

His feathers ruffle, unconsciously encouraging more touch. Dean takes a sharp breath. “Done,” he rasps. He takes Castiel’s hands and pulls him from under the water. He leads Castiel to the bed, then returns to the shower to turn off the water. He gathers towels and a new pair of pants and sets them in a stack on the bed. 

“You should dry off and get changed,” he says. “I’m going to get bandages and burn ointment.” He hurries out of the room. 

Castiel hums to himself. The room has what Dean needs. Sam showed him the array of medical supplies while he was treating Castiel’s injuries. Perhaps Dean doesn’t know. He ponders that as he changes into the new clothes and shakes his wings dry. 

After a while, he hears Dean approaching again. 

“Hey Cas, you dressed?” 

“Yes,” he answers. 

Dean enters and drops a variety of items on the bed. He pulls a stool in front of Castiel and motions for him to sit. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” answers Castiel. 

Dean has that same worried scowl about him. “I’m going to apply ointment, then wrap your arms. We’ll leave them bandaged until Sam gets here. The gauze is light, but don’t pick at it or you’ll pull the skin underneath it.” 

Castiel does not bother to tell Dean this is unnecessary. His wounds will heal completely by tomorrow morning. Dean wants to help. Castiel lets him. 

“Where is Bobby?” asks Castiel.

“He, Sam and Jess went to look for you in Washington,” answers Dean. “I’ve got to call them and tell them you came back.” 

“Jessica knew my plan,” says Castiel. He’s sure that’s the reason the other three knew where to look for him. “She knew where to find me. Though, I suppose that would be the first logical place to look.” Where else would he go? 

“You worried she ratted you out—er—told them your plan?” 

“I expected her too,” answers Castiel. He takes note of the new turn of phrase. “I didn’t tell her anything secret.” He told her just enough to make himself uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” says Dean. He takes some of the ointment in his hand and nods to Castiel’s arms. “You mind?” 

Castiel offers Dean his arm and wonders if there will be a day when Dean does not need to ask his permission to touch him. It could happen. He’s vaguely aware that he wants it to happen. 

When Dean is finished tending to the burns and cleaning up the mess they made, he turns to examine Castiel. 

“Thank you for your help,” says Castiel. 

“You’re welcome,” mutters Dean. His eyes scan Castiel’s wings. They are still wet. 

“I would like to go outside so my wings can dry.” 

“Do you want to go alone, or do you want me to go with you?” 

As usual, Dean gives him a choice. Castiel doesn’t know why it still surprises him. “You trust me to go alone?” he asks. Dean probably does not want him to leave again, but Dean would let him go if it was what Castiel wanted. Dean’s proven that already. 

“I trust you to do whatever you want,” answers Dean. 

“I would like to go alone,” answers Castiel. He needs time to think. How long is he going to stay with this family? Could this ever be home? What will he do with the wings and feathers? His flesh is new and his scars will be gone once he’s healed, but will the memories still haunt him? Does the hunter need to die before Castiel can completely heal? Does he have to kill him? 

Dean looks crestfallen when Castiel says he wants to go alone.

“Does that offend you?”

“No,” answers Dean. “I’ll call the others and tell them you’re safe.” He doesn’t say more. They part ways at the backdoor and Castiel goes outside alone. 

Castiel goes to his usual spot and stretches out in the grass on his stomach. He unfurls his wings and grins as the sun hits his feathers. Finally, the adrenalin rush has subsided and Castiel can rest. 

He means for this to be a meditative experience, but as the sun warms his body, he closes his eyes and drifts into a deep sleep. 

Castiel dreams. Part of him knows it’s only a dream. He’s back in his cage, fire surrounding him. The hunter appears in the flames. Castiel sees him this time, and this time he fights back.

 

xxx

 

Castiel hears singing before he is fully awake. Someone is petting his hair. Dean. He recognizes the smell of soap and leather and something sweet he cannot identify. He takes in the scent and, with his eyes still closed; he rests a hand on Dean’s arm. 

Dean must be lying in the grass in front of him. Castiel feels Dean’s muscles tense, then relax beneath his hand. He raises his head and blinks at his friend. “Hello, Dean,” he says. 

Dean grins. “Hey, Cas.” He seems nervous. “This—is this ok?” 

“Yes,” hums Castiel. He mimics the way Dean’s fingers are moving through his hair, and strokes Dean’s arm. “Perhaps I should have let you do this sooner.” 

“You want to talk about it?” asks Dean. “Your dream? You don’t have to, just—if you want to, I’ll listen.” 

Castiel thinks, but decides against it. “Not right now,” he answers. “I’d rather not spoil the moment.”

Dean grins and his heart starts racing. “Are we having a moment, Cas?”

It seems like a moment. Bobby said they had “a moment” once before. This seems similar. “What constitutes a moment?” he asks.

Dean laughs. “Never mind. You hungry? I made you a sandwich, but it’s been sitting out for a while. I’ll make you a fresh one, or I could make you something else. What do you like? We don’t have a lot of options, but I can get creative.”

Castiel studies him. Dean usually changes the subject when his heart beats like that. Castiel hates it. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” asks Dean.

“Ask me something then change the subject.” 

“I don’t know,” mutters Dean. 

Castiel watches him for any sign of discomfort. “I believe we are having a moment,” he says. 

“I guess we are,” mutters Dean. 

“I did not have nightmares when I spent the night in your cabin,” says Castiel. “I believe we had a moment then as well.” The emotions he’s feeling now are similar to the emotions that confused him that night.

“I didn’t have nightmares either,” says Dean.

Of course Dean avoids the issue.

Castiel sighs. “And did we have a moment?” He needs an answer to this. He needs to know what is significant and what is normal human behavior. Bobby is never this intimate with him and Castiel does not feel the same about Bobby as he does Dean. He needs to know what the difference is and he suspects the answer has something to do with the way Dean is running his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“Yeah,” answers Dean. “I think we did.” 

“And when we were mending the fence?”

“Also a moment.” 

Castiel smiles. “The a moment must be a period of gentleness and affection between friends.” 

“That’s accurate,” says Dean. 

Why Dean could not tell him the definition is beyond Castiel. Something still seems wrong with his definition. Perhaps “friends” is not the right word. It doesn't seem strong enough.

“You want a sandwich?” Dean seems determined to feed him instead of answer his questions. 

Castiel sighs again. “Yes.”

When Dean pulls away, Castiel feels cold. Reluctantly, he stands and follows Dean back to the house.


	18. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot is just kind of happening...

Dean makes a pasta dish for dinner. He says it’s spaghetti and it would be better if Bobby had more ingredients available. 

While Dean cooks, Castiel slips away, pretending to go to his room. Instead, he goes to Bobby’s safe. He enters the combination and it opens on the first try. He smiles, pleased with his small victory. He gathers Dean’s personal items and delivers them to his room. On the second trip, he retrieves Dean’s flask along with two bottles of liquor Bobby neglected to pour out. He leaves everything in Dean’s room, but puts the flask in his pocket. It’s a surprise and a greedy little part of him wants to see Dean’s expression when Castiel returns it to him. 

It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. Bobby and Sam mentioned something about “enabling” Dean’s addiction. Castiel is probably doing exactly that by returning his items, but if this is what brings Dean peace, he should have it. Dean deserves to be happy even if that means returning his weapons.

Castiel scowls at the assortment of guns knives and various nameless, but no less dangerous, items on Dean’s bed. Dean gave Castiel what he needed to escape. It’s only right that he return the favor. 

He runs a finger over one of the guns. Bobby said Dean wasn’t staying just for his weapons. He said Dean was staying, at least partially, for Castiel. He shifts his weight, wings ruffling. He needs to know how much of that is true. 

Dean calls him down for dinner. He’s already set the table and served two plates. Castiel sits and studies his food, unsure of how to spear the thin pasta with his fork. He looks up and sees Dean moving his plate to sit beside him. 

“You’ve got to twirl your fork,” he says, then demonstrates the motion. 

Castiel mirrors him and is pleased when he executes the technique. 

“Good job,” says Dean. He inches his seat away. 

Castiel tries it again, but makes an error and the pasta falls back to the plate. 

Dean moves closer and does another demonstration. 

Castiel tries not to grin and give himself away. Figuring out what draws Dean closer is much more intriguing than spaghetti. He fumbles though dinner and Dean does not try to move away again. 

This is not friendship. Sometimes, when Dean stares at him, he has the same wistful expression his father had when he would talk about his mother. Castiel has almost no frame of reference for romance or friendship, but when Dean looks at him, he thinks he can tell the difference.

They finish dinner and clean the kitchen and Castiel tries to tame his excitement. Dean follows him upstairs. Castiel waits until Dean is about to enter his room. 

“Dean,” he says, reaching into his pocket, “I thought you might need this.” He hopes he sounds casual. His heart is suddenly beating too fast.

“Where did you get that?” asks Dean. His eyes are wide as he takes the flask. He shakes it and seems to relax when he hears the liquid inside. 

“Bobby’s safe,” answers Castiel.

“How?”

“I know the combination,” answers Castiel. 

Dean grins and takes a sip. He closes his eyes as he swallows the liquor. He looks too happy for Castiel to regret returning it.

“I know it’s bad for your health,” says Castiel. “I believe I am ‘enabling’ you, but you helped me leave. This is the least I can do.” 

“Thank you,” breathes Dean. He rubs his thumb against the letters “J.W.” inscribed on the back of the flask. He takes another drink, then offers it to Castiel.

Castiel isn’t sure what Dean means by the gesture.

“Just take a sip,” explains Dean. “Don’t make me drink alone.” He grins and sort of winks. 

For some reason, that compels Castiel to accept the offer. He drinks, concentrating on the flavor. 

“You’ve got to swallow it,” says Dean. 

Obviously he has to swallow it eventually, but it stings. Predictably, it stings more going down. “The liquid is not hot, but it burns,” he says. The sensation is new, but the flavor is overall pleasant.

“It’s suppose to,” says Dean. 

“I’d like to try more.” 

Dean offers him the flask, but Castiel declines. 

“I procured several bottles from the safe, as well as your possessions. They are in your room.”

Dean spins around and pushes the door open. He stands, staring at his belongings laid out on his bed. “When?” he asks. 

“While you were preparing dinner,” answers Castiel. This was a good thing to do, even if it means Dean can leave now. Dean turns back to Castiel, speechless. 

“Would you still like some company while you drink?” asks Castiel. 

“Yeah,” he stammers. “Of course.” But Dean does not move from the doorway. He just stares at Castiel like he’s never seen an angel before. 

Castiel tilts his head to the side and Dean finally blinks and moves to sit on his bed. Castiel asks before he joins Dean. Jessica always asked before sitting on Castiel’s bed. It must be a human custom. “May I?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” answers Dean. “Get comfortable.” 

Castiel sits down, generally pleased with himself. 

Dean opens a bottle and passes it to Castiel. “Here’s to being grounded,” he says. He taps his flask against the glass and drinks. 

Castiel mimics Dean.

“This is called a toast,” says Dean. “You drink to commemorate something and clink your glasses together.”

“Humans do this?” 

“Yeah,” answers Dean. 

Castiel takes another drink. The liquor relaxes him. No wonder Dean likes it. “I would like to talk with you,” says Castiel. “You allowed me to pry into your past. It is only fair I do the same for you.”

Dean is clearly excited by the idea. “You don’t have to,” he says, “but I’ll listen to anything you’re willing to share.”

Castiel’s not sure what compelled him to make the offer. He assumes it’s the liquor, so he takes another drink. He shifts his wings. 

“How about I ask some questions and you answer if you feel like it?” offers Dean.

Castiel agrees.

“How old were you when you were captured?” asks Dean. 

“Eight,” answers Castiel. 

Dean tips the flask back and drinks. “What happened to your dad?” he asks.

Castiel drinks too. “He died.” He closes his eyes, trying to remember the way his father looked before they were captured. “My owner—”

“Kidnapper,” says Dean.

“My kidnapper—he believed he could train us to obey him.” He takes another drink. This is not as painful as he thought it would be, but it is still unpleasant. “My father was already weakened during the capture. He—”

_He fought and died for me. He protected me when hunters came. He kept me away from people like you. He fought hard against our abductor. It was my fault he found us._

Castiel clears his throat. He’s not ready to remember. “My father did not survive the training. He was strong—rebellious—but the hunter used my safety as an ultimatum and in the end, it broke him. I loved him as you loved your mother.”

Dean opens the second bottle. “I’m sorry you lost him. What was he like before?” 

The good memories surface and this time, Castiel lets them stay. “Kind,” he answers. “He used to say I was just like my mother, but I like to think I was more like him.” He huffs. “I think I look like him.”

“His real form or like the human he possessed?” asks Dean. 

There isn’t any malice in his voice. He seems to sincerely want to know. Castiel does not often think of the human who owned that body. He wants to look like his father, but he doesn’t. He looks like his mother and a nameless human. His wings are the only features that reflect his paternal heritage. “I never knew his angelic form,” he whispers. 

Dean doesn’t answer. Castiel does not expect him to. Dean’s only experience with possession is death. 

“You think he was a monster,” mutters Castiel. 

“No,” says Dean, too quickly. 

“You thought I was a monster.” 

“I—yeah.” 

At least Dean doesn’t deny everything. Castiel stares at the bottle of alcohol in his hands. His father was a good man. Castiel is doing a disservice to his memory. “I’ve never been to the realm of angels and demons,” he says. “I don’t know what they look like. My father was banished for loving a human. He was not a monster, but he did bad things.” 

“Like?” 

Castiel takes another drink. The alcohol helps, if only marginally. “I’m afraid you would hate him, if you knew.” He bites the inside of his cheek. _You would hate me too,_ he thinks, _if you knew the things I’ve done._

“I won’t,” says Dean. It’s not true. Dean is still, at his core, a hunter. It’s why he wouldn’t leave without his weapons. 

“What do you know of my kind?” asks Castiel. “Do you know about the war?” 

“Kind of,” answers Dean. “I know angels fight demons and sometimes they come into our world and take over humans.”

Castiel does his best to explain. The history he knows is broken; cobbled together with information from a human and an angel. Dean listens intently nonetheless. Castiel does not know what role his father played in the war against the demons. He hopes he was a good man. He looks down at his liquor again. “I very much want to believe that my father fought to save your kind,” he says.

“But?” asks Dean. 

“But, he died before I was old enough to hear his story.” It’s too difficult to say more. His eyes are stinging. When his father died, Castiel’s history died with him; along with any potential he had of learning to become an angel. Castiel is a half-breed and he will always behave as a half-breed. He can hear his owner’s voice. 

_Monster._

He thought, when he destroyed the cage and burned his old scars away, that the hunter would burn too. He was wrong. He will always be scarred. He will always be broken.

_Monster._

Castiel keeps talking about his father to drown out the voice in his head. “He left his home to be with my mother,” he whispers. “He loved her. I killed her. She was the first human I killed.” 

_Monster._

“He could not return home because I was too human,” Castiel continues, “and he could not live as a human because I am obviously something else.” He looks up at Dean, tries to focus on the green in his eyes. “As I understand it, most humans do not know angels and demons exist.”

Dean nods. Castiel wishes he’d say something. 

“He killed many hunters in order to keep me safe.” Confession is cathartic, but these are not his sins. He can’t bring himself to say it yet. The worst part of his captivity was when he was not alone with the hunter. He keeps talking. He’s not sure what he’s saying. He’s babbling, using his father as a shield again. Dean deserves the truth. He deserves to know that Castiel is a coward. He’s crying. He can’t stop. 

“The strong have a duty to defend the weak,” says Castiel. “I was weak for so long. I thought only of defending myself.” He takes another drink, grateful for the alcohol. “I never tried to save them.” 

 _Monster._  

Suddenly, the bottle is gone and Dean is leaning closer to him. 

“Save who, Cas?”

So many people, broken, wounded, afraid, came into his cage and he never tried to save them. The hunter would explain who they were before they were possessed. He’d tell Castiel a monster made them this way. The hunter would say Castiel could fix them. He’d tell Castiel to fix them, or he’d kill them. 

An arm wraps around him. Dean has moved beside him. He’s warm and his breathing is steady and rhythmic. Maybe it isn’t love, but it is gentleness. 

“I don’t deserve this,” whispers Castiel. Dean should know the truth.

“Don’t deserve what?” asks Dean. 

“Kindness, patience, a second chance.” He doesn’t deserve anything that’s happened while he’s been here with these kind people. He turns to Dean. “He brought them into the cage,” he whispers. “They were so broken, and I just watched them die.”

_Save them, monster._

“He’d tell me their stories before he did it,” says Castiel, “who they were and what took them, and I just watched.”

Dean pulls Castiel closer and uses his free hand to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

Castiel tries to push him away. “You don’t understand what I’m saying, do you?” He can’t possibly understand. “He brought in humans, like you and your family,” says Castiel. “They were possessed, then abandoned. They’d gone mad—they begged for help and I did nothing. He gave me a chance to save them and I just listened until they stopped screaming.”

Dean pulls Castiel into his side again. “Be quiet, Cas,” he whispers. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he says again. Dean should not forgive him. 

Dean cups Castiel’s cheek and gently encourages him to rest his head against Dean’s shoulder. He presses his lips against Castiel’s temple and whispers. “I don’t deserve this either.” 

Castiel just breathes. The hunter is very much alive in Castiel’s mind. He forces himself to stay present, to remember that Dean is a hunter, but not the hunter who owned him. He cannot afford to confuse the two.

Suddenly, Dean pulls away from Castiel and reaches into a bag on the bed. He pulls out a handful of feathers. He keeps his head low as he presents them to Castiel. “I’m bad too,” he mutters.

Castiel stares before taking the feathers into his hand. He straightens out the frayed edges, cradling them. These are Dean’s trophies. These feathers are all that’s left of the people Dean killed.

“I never asked if they were trying to save us,” says Dean. “Plenty of them begged. They begged me to let them go—even the demons—and I didn’t.” 

_Monster._

Castiel holds the feathers to his chest. Perhaps Dean does understand. Perhaps they are both monsters. He pulls away from Dean and gets off of the bed. He leaves to gather the other hunter’s trophies from his closet. Maybe burning the house and cage didn’t solve everything, but it helped. Castiel will continue to burn away his past until it doesn’t hurt anymore, no matter how long it takes.

He wraps Dean’s feathers in a pillowcase to keep the separated from the others, then makes sure they are all securely wrapped in a blanket. Dean may not be ready to destroy his past. He sets the bundle of feathers in the hall, then goes back for his father’s wings.

He stops in the doorway to Dean’s room. “Will you help me?” he asks.

Dean practically jumps from the bed.

Castiel takes a step back so Dean can see the bundle. “The feathers are in the blanket,” he says.

“What are we doing?” asks Dean.

“I’d like to burn these,” answers Castiel. “Your feathers are wrapped separately, if you wish to keep them.” 

“No,” says Dean quickly. “I want to burn them, but what about the wings?” 

“I do not want to remember him this way,” answers Castiel. He doesn’t need to explain himself. Dean understands. 

Dean goes to his room to retrieve something, then follows Castiel outside into the back yard. 

Castiel follows Dean’s lead and lets him choose a place to build the fire. They dig a pit and Castiel encircles it with rocks to keep the flames at bay. 

Dean builds the pyre and sets his flask in the center where the fire will burn the hottest. Castiel doesn’t question him. This fire will cleanse. Anything bad will burn. His father’s wings will go on top. If he’d lived, he would have liked it here. He would have liked Dean’s family. Castiel does not know what the hunter did with his body, but it doesn’t matter. Only the wings were truly his father’s and they will be burned and buried in the same place Castiel regained his freedom. 

They finish constructing the fire pit and Dean pours some kind of accelerant over the wood. He strikes a match and Castiel has just enough presence of mind to pull Dean back as the flames roar to life.

He shields the human with his wings and holds him close to his body. Dean leans into him. The human is so fragile. Castiel cannot save all humans, but perhaps he can save this one.

At some point, Dean leads them to sit in the grass. They don’t say much while the fire burns. Castiel is too lost in thought as it is. He savors the silence until the flames die and the coals glimmer in the early morning sun. They bury the pit and all the bad things along with it.

Castiel follows Dean to his bedroom and Dean does not send him away. He waits by the bed while Dean settles into his mattress. The human extends a hand to Castiel and he takes that as an invitation. He curls into Dean’s side, head pillowed on his chest, and stretches a wing out to protect his human while they sleep. He’s too tired to analyze. He relaxes to the sound of Dean’s breathing and closes his eyes.


	19. the difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all the angst

Dean slips out of bed when the sun is high. Cas is still asleep on the other side of the bed with his wings tucked loosely against his back. Dean goes through his morning routine in the bathroom quickly and quietly. He rinses off just enough to get rid of the stink of smoke on his skin. When he returns and slips back into his position beside the angel, he hears something buzzing in the duffle beside his bed. He doesn’t reach for it. He knows what it is. His phone is next to the empty bottle on the table. The burner phone is still in the bag. He and John used it to stay in contact with the hunting network. 

John didn’t have any real friends; just hunting buddies. It was Dean’s job to spread the word when John died. It took him three days to tell Sam and that’s as far as he got. At some point, Dean will need to tell the other hunters, if Bobby hasn’t done it already. 

Dean rolls closer to Cas and takes in the angel’s scent. Messages on the burner phone are going to be monster tips or condolences. They’re going to be about his old life. He can’t go back to that yet. His new life is too fragile. He’s clinging to a thread of something nice and good, but Dean isn’t nice or good, not yet. 

He curls into the angel and hold him close. He focuses on what he can see and touch and it helps to quiet his mind. Cas is changing everyday; becoming stronger, bolder, more beautiful. He’s living proof that change isn’t always for the worst. 

He notices Cas’ hair is wet. Did he already take a shower? When did he do that? How did he do that? Dean brushes a lock of damp hair from Cas’ forehead. 

“You are a heavy sleeper,” says Cas. He cracks one eye open. 

Dean jerks his hand back. “Shit,” he says. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“I woke up an hour ago.” 

“You took a shower?” 

“I did.” Cas raises his head, chewing his bottom lip. “I came back to wake you, but you were sleeping so peacefully. Do you mind that I came back to bed?”

Dean grins and slips an arm underneath Cas’ head, holding him close again. “I’m glad you came back.” 

Cas licks his lips. The air around them is still heavy with the emotion from last night, but Cas seems drained. 

Dean trails his fingers along Cas’ jawline. The angel closes his eyes. Dean can feel his pulse pounding beneath his skin. “Is this ok?” he asks. 

“Yes,” answers Cas. His eyes are closed. 

Dean stays quiet while Cas tries to ground himself. After several minutes, Dean moves to run his fingers through Cas’ hair. “Still ok?” he asks. 

Castiel nods, but doesn’t open his eyes.

Cas is not ok. Dean knows Cas is not ok. It’s obvious, but he’s not sure how to fix it. Dean’s not even sure _he’s_ ok. He’s too hot and he’s sweating. When did he start sweating? He can’t stop trying to figure out when this stopped being about playing nice for Sam and became something real. 

“What are you thinking?” whispers Dean. He needs to know; needs to hear something other than his own thoughts. 

“I’m not sure,” Cas answers. 

Dean watches the way Cas’ brow furrows; the way he licks his lips and clenches his jaw. He’s afraid. Why is he afraid?

 _Because you’re the enemy._  

“You’re thinking I’m a hunter,” says Dean quietly. “You gave me my gear back as a test.” Judging by the way Cas’ wings flinch, Dean’s pretty sure he’s hit the nail on the head. Cas is afraid Dean will use the weapons against him. 

“No, I trust you.” Cas’ eyes are shut tight. 

“You don’t have to trust me,” says Dean.

“You’ve been so kind,” says Cas. 

“I’m trying to earn your trust,” says Dean. “Doesn’t mean you have to give it to me.”

“You trust me,” says Cas. “We’ve each been conditioned for violence against each other, and yet you trust me.” 

“I’m working on it,” teases Dean. He tries to play it off, but God help him, it’s true. He trusts Cas. Hope, trust and compassion are dangerous emotions during a hunt. These are emotions he swore he could control, but they bubble freely to the surface now, and Dean’s not sure which version of himself is true anymore. 

“How about we get some breakfast?” asks Dean. He leans in to press a kiss to Cas’ cheek, but the angel suddenly surges forward.

Cas wraps a hand around the back of Dean’s neck, fingers tangled in his hair, and their lips collide. The kiss is chaste, but insatiable. Dean tests the boundaries and slides his tongue across Cas’ bottom lip. The angel’s fingers tense against scalp. 

Dean pulls back, kisses the corners of Cas’ mouth. He runs his fingers through the angel’s hair and traces the line of Cas’ jaw with his lips. He cannot begin to assign names to the feelings coursing through him, but at least he’s not thinking anymore and thank God for that. He kisses Cas again, gently, then draws back. 

Cas’ eyes open; electric blue with pupils dilated. 

“You ok?” asks Dean.

“Yes,” breathes Cas. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Me neither,” says Dean, “or not with—I’ve only done that with humans.” 

Cas squints and looks genuinely curious. “Is there a difference in the experience?” 

 _Yes. But it’s probably because of_ who _you are, not_ what _you are._  

Dean shoves that thought away before it can burrow down and take root. He realizes Cas is still waiting for an answer. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know why he’s being honest—angel magic? Can’t be. Cas wouldn’t do that without telling him. 

 _I trust him,_ thinks Dean. Somewhere in the back of his mind lurks a thought he can’t admit to yet. It hides with other truths too painful or frightening to acknowledge. Dean tells himself he didn’t hear it. He banishes the thought, but he knows now, of all the creatures he’s encountered Castiel is the most dangerous. 

“What is the difference?” asks the angel. He’s still looking at Dean, oblivious to the hunter’s struggle. 

“I don’t know how to describe it,” answers Dean. _Is it still a trap if you walk in willingly?_ He’s so close to Cas they’re breathing the same air. He leans in for another kiss and decides that whatever happens next he’s brought it on himself.

Cas has him in a vice grip. His strength is Dean’s excuse to not pull away. He lets his hands wander. Cas’ burns have healed. He removed his bandages despite Dean’s instructions. He smirks to himself as he nibbles at the skin on the angel’s neck. Cas is comfortable enough with him to ignore his directions. Cas is healing and Dean hasn’t screwed him up. Then again, they are currently making out in his room and Dean’s pretty sure that goes against the Winchester doctors’ patient recovery protocol.

“How long before the others return?” ask Cas.

“Probably tomorrow afternoon,” answers Dean. He doesn’t add that he’s estimated down to the hour how much time they’ll have alone. Cas takes Dean’s face in his hands and forces Dean to look into his eyes. 

“Will you come back?” he asks. 

“Am I going somewhere?” asks Dean. 

“At some point you will return to hunting; for your family.” 

“Don’t worry about that now,” says Dean.

“I’m not worried,” says Castiel. “It is an inevitability, one I understand very well.” He tilts his head slightly. “I was just wondering if you will come back here when you are done.”

“Of course,” answers Dean. He wants it to be true. This could be his home. These people could be his family. Cas could be his family. He could translate Enochian for Sam and Jess, take calls or fix things for Bobby. He has skills. He could live that life. Cas is staring at him with those ice-blue eyes and God; Dean wants to be the person Cas sees.

“Please answer honestly,” says Castiel.

Dean closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see Cas change his mind once he realizes what kind of person Dean really is. “I don’t know,” he answers. “What about you?”

Cas frowns and he stops staring at Dean. His breathing increases. He drops his hands and sits up.

The sudden lack of physical contact makes Dean open his eyes again.

Cas is staring. He backs away to the edge of the mattress. He pulls his knees to his chest, wings hanging over the foot of the bed.

Dean sits up too, but keeps his distance. “Cas?” He holds a hand out, afraid to do more. “What did I do?” 

 _You answered him honestly, you dumb fuck._  

Cas lowers his forehead to his knees, just like he did that night in the cabin. It’s shame triggered by fear triggered by Dean. 

“It’s ok,” says Dean. “I went too fast. That’s not your fault. That’s on me.”

 _That’s not what freaked him out. You’re a hunter. He hoped you’d changed. You’ll betray him. He knows it._  

“I’m all right,” mutters Castiel. Dean has to lean in closer to hear him. He’s talking to his knees. “I am overcome with emotion. I can’t make it stop.”

Dean laughs. “That’s usually when I start drinking.” His personal mantra of “deflect, deflect, deflect” is pounding hard in his mind. 

The joke gets Castiel’s attention for some reason, and he looks up. “You cannot make it stop either?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Bobby keeps saying I need to talk it out.” 

“That was Jessica’s advice to me as well.” 

If Dean could figure out how to teleport Jessica into his room right now, he’d do it. “Do you want to talk about what just happened?” He should at least offer. 

“No,” answers Castiel. “But I can tell I’ve confused you so it only seems fair that we talk.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” says Dean quickly. He can’t let Cas feel obligated. “What do you want to do? What do you need right now?”

_Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen. Please, just give me a direction._

Castiel drops his head again. “I don’t know,” he groans. 

 _Well, shit._  

Cas is hurt and Dean’s not qualified to fix him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears his father. 

 _Start with what you know._  

He knows a lot about angels, physically, but that won’t help him here. Cas is also human, but that doesn’t help either because what the fuck does Dean the-murdering-psychopath Winchester know about humans? He can break anyone and anything in one hundred different ways, but he can’t fix them. 

_What do you know about Cas?_

Cas is stubborn and secretive, but honest. He seems to like Dean, but maybe isn’t a great judge of character. He has no idea what humans are like, even though he is partially human. He has a basic grasp of angel life, but mostly his worldview has been shaped by torture and tragedy. Cas bonded with Dean probably because he’s more familiar with asshole hunters than nice people like Sam and Bobby and Jess. It’s twisted for Dean to encourage their connection. 

With no solutions coming forward, Dean decides to improvise. 

“Hey, Cas?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“You know you don’t have to stay here, right?” 

“I know.” 

Dean sighs. All he wants to do is hold Cas until the angel feels better. That’s it. That’s all he’s got to offer. “I’m not sure what to do here,” he begins, “but I kinda feel like we should lay back down and do that cuddle thing we were doing before we woke up.” 

He needs to replay the last hour at half speed in his mind so he can find a solution. 

Cas looks up. “Why?” 

That’s a perfectly logical response to Dean’s dumbass suggestion. Dean shrugs. 

“Will it help?” asks Cas. “Is it a human thing?” 

Dean tries not to cringe at the sincerity of the question and the implication that Cas even needs to ask. Cas is trying to create an archive for his heritage. He wants to know what’s “right” and what’s “typical.” Nothing about Cas is typical and nothing Dean does is right. 

“I don’t know if it will help,” answers Dean, “but it is something humans do when they feel bad. Sometimes. I don’t know. I’m bad at this. Sam would know what to do, hell, so would Jess and Bobby.” He runs a hand over his hair. “Honestly I’m the last person you should be alone with.” 

Castiel does that head tilt thing. He unfolds from his spot at the foot of the bed and crawls forward. Dean doesn’t move until the angel pushes him back into the mattress. He curls against Dean’s chest and sighs. 

Dean holds Cas and runs his fingers through his hair and hopes it’s soothing. He tries to pinpoint all the times he’s fucked up since Sam left. He’ll confess to his family tomorrow; tell them all the ways he’s bad and let them decide if he deserves to stay.

xxx

Dean gets creative for dinner and, makes something that passes for stir-fry. They couldn’t fall asleep again, so Cas went outside and Dean distracted himself with cleaning his weapons, then cooking.

Cas is sitting at the table, perched on his stool. He hasn’t said anything other than “thank you” when Dean handed him his plate. 

Dean’s been gearing up for this conversation all day. There are too many kinks in their interactions. He needs to set the record straight. He needs to know if Cas understands what he’s getting into with Dean.

He sits down across from Cas and forces his hands into his lap to keep from fidgeting. He clears his throat and big blue eyes immediately zero in on him. As soon as Cas looks at him, Dean forgets how he was going to begin. 

“I think we need to talk about us,” he says. Everything he was prepared to say is gone. He’s back to square one. He should have written this down.

“All right,” says Cas.

Dean lets out a deep breath. “Do you know the difference between a, like, do you know how sometimes people have different kinds of relationships and stuff?” 

Cas cocks his head to one side and sets down his fork. He’s concentrating because Dean sounds like a fucking idiot.

“Let me try again,” says Dean, slowly. “Do you know the difference between romantic feelings and friend feelings?”

“Oh,” says Castiel, “yes. I think I have a basic grasp of both feelings. What I feel for you is romantic and what I feel for Bobby is friendship.”

“Ok,” says Dean, because at least they’re on the same page. “So, I have romantic feelings for you too, but I think that’s bad.”

Cas’ expression falls. “Because I’m a monster,” he says.

“No,” says Dean quickly. “No, you’re not a monster. I’m taking advantage of you.” He hurries to correct the angel. “I manipulated you. You like me because you don’t know any better. Remember the feathers? I’m a hunter, Cas. You can’t possibly have feelings for a hunter. This is—there’s a term for this—I think it’s like Stockholm syndrome. Jess would know—”

Castiel cuts him off. “You think I don’t know my own feelings?’

“I think you’re used to hunters and that’s why I feel familiar, but you don’t realize that you don’t like me as a person, you like that I’m a hunter because that’s what you know.” Dean’s stomach churns and his skin is cold. This is not how their conversation was supposed to go. He just wanted to make sure Cas didn’t feel pressured.

Cas stands and leans forward with both hands on the table. For a second, he just stares at Dean. He clenches his jaw and Dean doesn’t dare speak. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. 

Cas huffs, straightens up, then leaves without a word.

Dean props his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands. 

_Fuck._


	20. Talk it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ERMERGERD! More angst! 
> 
> *snuggles down in a big cozy blanket of "go away" and sips a warm mug of "no one understands me!"*

Castiel unwraps his bandages before stepping beneath the warm water of the rec room shower. Dean is still asleep upstairs. Castiel didn’t dream last night. He’s not sure if it was Dean’s warm presence or his snoring that kept his nightmares at bay; he’s grateful either way.

He turns his face up into the spray from the shower. The rec room shower is the only one that can accommodate his wings. He can’t remember much about last night. He remembers fragments of confessions, the funeral pyre, and Dean. 

He scrubs himself of the smell of soot for the second day in a row. He shuts off he water and dries off as much as he can before returning upstairs. He goes to Dean’s room, unsure if he’s allowed to return to the bed since he left. But Dean has one arm thrown over the spot where Castiel was laying and he’s scowling in his sleep. 

Castiel decides he can return to his spot as long as he does not disturb Dean. He crawls carefully into the bed and settles back into place with his head against Dean’s chest.

The human instantly curls into him, nuzzling his face into Castiel’s hair. He rests a hand on Dean’s chest and Dean takes it in his own, pressing it into his t-shirt. Castiel cannot help but grin up at the sleeping human.

Castiel watches him until he begins to stir. He slips out of Dean’s grasp and pulls away enough for the human to comfortably get out of bed. Dean wakes up several minutes later and leaves the room. 

When Dean comes back, he returns to his spot in the bed, just as Castiel did. Dean reaches out and brushes his fingers over Castiel’s forehead. 

Presumably, it is all right that Castiel came back, if Dean did the same. Rules do not change with Dean. He is constant. He does not contradict himself. He is strong, and he has allowed Castiel to become stronger. He is fragile, but not so fragile Castiel can break him. He is patient, and Castiel is safe with him. Castiel trusts him. 

Dean is petting his hair. It’s still wet; he probably knows Castiel is awake. 

“You are a heavy sleeper,” says Castiel, opening one eye to watch the human. 

Dean pulls his hand away. “Shit,” he says. “I thought you were still asleep.” 

“I woke up an hour ago.” 

“You took a shower?” 

“I did.” Castiel looks to Dean and bites his lip. There is more space between them. “I came back to wake you, but you were sleeping so peacefully. Do you mind that I came back to bed?” 

Dean grins and pulls Castiel back into his arms. “I’m glad you came back,” he says. 

Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. Their closeness is intoxicating.

Dean runs his fingers along Castiel’s jaw and Castiel closes his eyes, drinking in the softness of the touch. 

“Is this ok?” asks Dean.

“Yes,” answers Castiel. He’s still having trouble breathing, but he’s not upset. He trusts Dean. He shouldn’t. He knows better. He knows now that Dean has his weapons; he’s likely to leave. He knows humans are not always what they seem. None of that stops him from wanting to hold this human close to him forever. 

“Still ok?” asks Dean. 

Castiel nods. He is fine. The panic slithering through his body is a relic of the past. He trusts Dean. He’s been so kind to Castiel. At the very least he owes Dean his trust. 

“What are you thinking?’ whispers Dean. 

“I’m not sure,” answers Castiel. 

“You’re thinking I’m a hunter,” says Dean. 

 _Yes._  

“You gave me my gear back as a test.” 

 _Yes._  

“No,” says Castiel. “I trust you.” 

“You don’t have to trust me,” says Dean. 

“You’ve been so kind,” says Castiel. Humans expect something in exchange for kindness. It doesn’t anger Castiel the way it used to. 

“I’m trying to earn your trust,” says Dean. “Doesn’t mean you have to give it to me.” 

“You trust me,” says Castiel. He’s done nothing to _earn_ Dean’s trust. “We’ve been conditioned for violence against each other, and yet you trust me.” 

Dean grins. “I’m working on it,” he says. 

Maybe Castiel is working on it, too. Maybe trust is an action, not a reward for civility. Maybe he can “work on” trusting Dean. 

“How about we get some breakfast?” asks Dean. He’s got that look on his face that says he knows Castiel is uncomfortable, says he understands. Dean leans in and so does Castiel. He shouldn’t kiss Dean, but he does.

Dean doesn’t even flinch. He kisses back. Dean’s tongue licks against his lips and Castiel realizes he’s wandered far beyond his realm of experience. 

Dean must sense that Castiel is nervous, because he pulls away from his mouth and trails a line of kisses along Castiel’s jaw. He kisses Castiel again. 

“You ok?” asks Dean. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel, breathless. “I’ve never done that before.” Dean should know. It feels important for Dean to know.

“Me neither,” says Dean, “or not with—I’ve only done that with humans.”

“Is there a difference in the experience?” asks Castiel. What would it be like to kiss another angel? Or a demon? Or a woman? Does he want to kiss a woman? He’s not sure. His head is swimming. 

“Yeah,” answers Dean. 

“What is the difference?” asks Castiel. Electricity is the only way to describe what he’s feeling now. There’s more to this, he’s vaguely aware. What else did he miss during his captivity? He needs to know what else makes his skin itch and his body crave more. 

“I don’t know how to describe it,” answers Dean. He kisses Castiel again.

The touch feeds a famine Castiel did not realize existed. He’s clinging too tightly to the human. He needs to be gentle but the way Dean is beginning to writhe beside him makes it impossible to pull away. Castiel parts with Dean’s lips to gasp for air and Dean’s mouth latches onto Castiel’s throat. A quick combination of teeth and tongue tease his skin and Castiel gasps again. 

“How long before the others return?” asks Castiel. He knows this—whatever this is—won’t last forever. Dean’s job is over. He’ll leave soon. 

“Probably tomorrow afternoon,” answers Dean. Of course he knows. He can leave when they return.

He cups Dean’s face in his hands, making sure he has the human’s full attention. “Will you come back?” he asks. He needs an answer and he wants Dean to know he knows. 

“Am I going somewhere?” 

Dean doesn’t even know it yet. 

“At some point you will return to hunting,” says Castiel, “for your family.” 

“Don’t worry about that now.” 

“I’m not worried,” says Castiel. “It is an inevitability, one I understand very well. I was just wondering if you will come back here when you are done.” 

“Of course.” 

“Please answer honestly,” says Castiel. 

Dean closes his eyes and grimaces. “I don’t know,” he answers. “What about you?” 

Castiel hadn’t considered that. He will leave again to find the hunter, and when he does? Then what? Where will he go? He’s not sure why he came back after he burned the house. His life cannot revolve around another human. He has to make his decision independent of Dean. He almost let himself forget. After only a few days with his freedom, he’s already tied to another human, and this time he did it to himself. He’s never lived without someone controlling him. Dean is more caring than controlling, but Castiel is still not acting independently. He’s not even sure if he can. He’s traded someone else’s cage for someone else’s home. 

He suddenly realizes he’s pulled away from Dean and curled into himself at the foot of the bed. His knees are tucked to his chest with his arms around them like a child. He’s not strong, and he never will be if he stays. 

Destroying the cage should have helped. 

Dean is sitting across the bed with a hand outstretched. “What did I do?” he asks. 

Castiel presses his forehead to his knees. He cannot force himself to stop thinking.

“It’s ok,” says Dean. “I went too fast. That’s not your fault. That’s on me.”

“I’m all right,” Castiel mutters into his knees. “I am overcome with emotion. I can’t make it stop.”

Dean laughs. “That’s usually when I start drinking.”

Castiel looks up at him. “You cannot make it stop either?”

Dean shakes his head. “Bobby keeps saying I need to talk it out.” 

Castiel nods. “That was Jessica’s advice to me as well.”

Dean sighs. “Do you want to talk about what just happened?”

“No,” answers Castiel. “But I can tell I’ve confused you so it only seems fair that we talk.”

Dean shakes his head quickly. “Don’t worry about me,” he says. “What do you want to do? What do you need right now?” 

Castiel rests his head on his knees again. “I don’t know,” he groans. He wants to leave. He wants to run and prove he can be a part of this world. He knows that’s never going to happen. He’s too much for one world and not enough for the other. He’s trapped in his own personal purgatory waiting for someone to want him. 

And then there’s Dean. There is one human who clearly wants him, but not enough to leave his world behind to join Castiel in limbo. Castiel can’t ask that of him; it isn’t fair to want Dean to suffer along side him. He needs to learn to be strong alone.

“Hey, Cas?” 

“What?” 

“You know you don’t have to stay here, right?”

“I know.” He shouldn’t stay. He should leave before whatever this is gets worse. 

“I’m not sure what to do here,” says Dean slowly, “but I kinda feel like we should just lay back down and do that cuddle thing we were doing before we woke up.” 

Castiel looks at him. “Why?”

Dean shrugs.

“Will it help? Is it a human thing?”

“I don’t know if it will help,” answers Dean, “but it is something humans do when they feel bad. Sometimes. I don’t know.” Castiel doesn’t miss that Dean says “they” instead of “we.” He excludes himself. Has he always done that?

“I’m bad at this,” Dean continues. “Sam would know what to do, hell, so would Jess and Bobby.” He sighs and runs his hand though his hair. “Honestly, I’m the last person you should be alone with.” 

Castiel frowns as he unfolds himself from the edge of the bed. He crawls to Dean and pushes the human back down onto the mattress. He tucks himself into the crook of Dean’s arms and rests his head on Dean’s chest and listen’s to Dean’s heart. He counts the steady beats and tries to remember the peace he felt when he first woke up.

xxx 

Dean makes something called “stir-fry” for dinner. He seems distracted as he buzzes around the kitchen, so Castiel stays quiet. 

He spent the afternoon outside. He flew from Bobby’s property to a nearby pond to remind himself he’s free. He made a conscious decision to go back.

He watches as Dean prepares two plates and takes a seat at the table. Castiel thanks him for dinner and tries to find a way to explain himself.

Across the table, Dean clears his throat and Castiel looks up at him.

“I think we need to talk about us,” says Dean.

“All right,” agrees Castiel, slightly relieved that Dean is taking the initiative on the topic.

Dean exhales deeply. He’s nervous. “Do you know the difference between a, like, do you know how sometimes people have different kinds of relationships and stuff?”

It takes Castiel a minute to sort out what Dean is trying to say.

“Let me try again,” says Dean. “Do you know the difference between romantic feelings and friend feelings?” 

“Oh,” says Castiel, “yes. I think I have a basic grasp of both feelings. What I feel for you is romantic and what I feel for Bobby is friendship.” He knows about these feelings in theory and is working on using them in practice.

“Ok,” says Dean. “So, I have romantic feelings for you too, but I think that’s bad.”

Castiel’s breath catches in his chest. “Because I’m a monster,” he finishes. 

“No,” says Dean quickly. "No, you’re not a monster. I’m taking advantage of you. I manipulated you. You like me because you don’t know any better. Remember the feathers? I’m a hunter, Cas. You can’t possibly have feelings for a hunter. This is—there’s a term for this—I think it’s like Stockholm syndrome. Jess would know—”

“You think I don’t know my own feelings?” asks Castiel. Does Dean think he’s so easily manipulated? Is he equating Castiel’s feelings with some kind of mental illness?

“I think you’re used to hunters and that’s why I feel familiar, but you don’t realize that you don’t like me as a person, you like that I’m a hunter because that’s what you know.” 

Castiel’s entire body is shaking. He can’t speak for the rage constricting his thoughts. He’s worked so hard to trust Dean, to understand Dean and Dean’s family and now Dean thinks Castiel is too stupid to understand himself? Proof. Dean needs proof. It’s not enough for Castiel to return his weapons, or share his secrets, or offer Dean a bond he’s never offered anyone else. Dean thinks he is just a stupid monster. Dean is the all-knowing, all-powerful human who knows what’s best for his stupid little pet. 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe Castiel can never be free. Maybe he’s better off owned.

He’s standing with both hands braced against the table, but he doesn’t remember leaving his seat. He glares at Dean, then leaves. He’s too angry to make sense of what he’s thinking and feeling. He needs to calm down. He needs to be alone. 

xxx

Castiel flies over the trees. He spent the night sitting on the roof of the house. He’s not as angry as he was last night. Dean’s behavior was out of character. Then again, people are not always what they seem. Either Dean does not understand him the way Castiel thought, or they are having difficulty communicating.

After Dean went to bed, Castiel used Bobby’s computer to look up “Stockholm syndrome” and decided it was not something that applied to him. He also researched other mental disorders and found several that could apply to both him and Dean.

Jessica is due to arrive today. They need to sit down and talk with her together.

Castiel also read about relationships and proper relationship maintenance. Dean’s accusation that Castiel didn’t understand his own feelings was partially true, and perhaps was part of the reason Castiel got upset. He read that it was not uncommon for two people to need a moderator to listen to their stories and help them find common ground. 

It would be easier to run and forget about the human.

Castiel hears a car below him. He can sense them before he sees them. They’re early. He dives down to meet them and follows them up the driveway. They are all traveling in Bobby’s truck. Sam gets out first and stares, mouth agape, at Castiel’s wings. Then he scowls as he examines Castiel’s torso.

“You’re healed,” he says. “Can I take a look at your wing? I mean, you’re flying so I guess it works, but damn. That was fast. Is that an angel thing? It’s got to be. Do you know how it works?” 

Jessica steps up behind him. “He means ‘hello, it’s nice to see you again’,” she says.

“Right,” stammers Sam. “I just—wow—I’ve never seen a recovery time like that. And your scars are gone.”

“I burned them off,” answers Castiel.

“You can do that?” asks Sam.

“Why did you do that?” asks Jessica. She’s just as wide-eyed as her husband.

“I was attempting to cleanse myself of my past,” answers Castiel. “Actually, Jessica, when you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“You _want_ to speak with me?” she asks. 

“Yes. I assume you are familiar with emotional conflicts.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “We can talk whenever you want.” She and Sam are both grinning. Castiel isn’t sure what he’s done to make them so happy, but he’s got a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest. 

“Is Dean inside?” asks Bobby. He shoulders his bag and shuts the door to the truck. 

“I believe so,” answers Castiel. “I’ve been out flying for a while.” He doesn't mention their fight. That seems like something he and Dean should explain together.

“I’ll go get him,” says Sam.

“We’ll be in the kitchen,” says Bobby. “I’m starving.” 

“Dean made stir-fry last night,” says Castiel. “I believe there are leftovers.”

“Dean cooked?” asks Bobby. “I didn’t know he knew how to turn on the stove.”

Castiel hums. “He’s very good at it.” 

They go to the kitchen and Jessica and Bobby sample the leftover food.

Sam and Dean enter the kitchen a few minutes later. Castiel sees Dean out of the corner of his eye and a new and unexpected wave of anger sweeps over him. He can’t even bring himself to make eye contact. 

“So,” says Bobby, “how’ve things been going with you two?” His eyebrows are raised as though there is more significant meaning to his words.

“Really good,” answers Dean. 

If Dean is going to lie then Castiel will lie as well. “My condition is much improved,” he answers.

“You seem much stronger,” says Jessica.

“I am,” answers Castiel. He was not prepared to get angry again.

The room grows uncomfortably quiet and Castiel is aware that he and Dean are the main focus of the group. It makes him uneasy. 

“Castiel, Dean, let’s go upstairs,” says Bobby.

“What’s going on?” asks Jessica. 

Castiel and Dean answer in unison. “Nothing.” 

“Did I miss something?” asks Sam.

“Cas?” asks Dean. “Can I talk to you alone?”

If he wanted to talk alone, he should have reached out last night. It’s too late for that now.

“I think we should both talk to Jessica,” says Castiel. 

“Dean?” asks Sam. 

Castiel hears Dean’s heart rate increase. The human is standing very still. He’s searching for a way out.

“I kissed him,” says Dean, suddenly.

Castiel shakes his head because Dean’s had an entire night to think this through and figure out what went wrong. “That is _not_ why I’m angry,” says Castiel, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. 

“Then why the fuck did you leave?” snaps Dean.

“You said I have Stockholm syndrome,” shouts Cas, though that’s not exactly why he’s mad either. 

“You don’t even know what that is.”

“I looked it up on Bobby’s computer.”

“You don’t know how to use a computer.”

“Yes I do, Sam showed me weeks ago.” 

“You were mad before you looked it up. You were mad when we woke up. Hell, you were mad when we went to bed.” 

“If you’re keeping a running tab on my anger, Dean, then you should know I’ve been mad for decades.” 

“Boys,” shouts Bobby. “Do you want to talk about this, or do you want to see who draws first blood?” 

“What the hell did we miss?” mutters Jessica. “Are you guys together?”

“Ask Dean,” spits Castiel. “He’s more than willing to speak for me.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest in a recognizably defensive posture. “We’re not together,” he says. “Cas is just confused. I did things I shouldn’t have done and he doesn’t understand and I just want to fucking apologize so I can leave and not have to bother with this shit anymore.”

That’s it. That’s what Castiel needed to know. Dean thinks he’s a dumb monster. “If you belittle my understanding of this world one more time,” grows Castiel. It’s easier to threaten than think about the fact that Dean wants to leave, that Castiel isn’t and never will be enough.

“You’ll what?” snaps Dean.

Sam intervenes and stands between them with his back to Castiel. “What the fuck?” he asks Dean. “Start from the beginning.”

Jessica begins to pull Castiel out of the room, but he doesn’t move. “No,” he says. “I want to hear what he has to say.” He needs to know how much of this was a lie. Maybe Dean wasn’t trying to insult him. Maybe Dean was trying to confess. 

Dean gives his version of the events leading up to their fight. Castiel fills in a few minor details.

“Is that accurate?” Bobby asks, once Dean is finished. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “Though Dean’s account presumes I was not an equal player.”

“Were you?” asks Jessica.

“Yes,” answers Castiel.

Suddenly, Dean begins to back away from them. He’s very pale. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he mutters.

“It’s ok,” says Sam. 

“I fucked up,” says Dean.

“We can fix it,” says Sam. 

“I need to lay down.” Dean keeps moving back toward the doorway. 

Sam moves to stop him but Bobby says to let him go. It’s probably for the best. Dean is shutting down. They’re not going to get anything from him right now, though that is not the reaction Castiel expects. Dean leaves and the others turn to Castiel. 

“We’ll give him a few minutes to cool off,” says Bobby, “then I’ll talk to him. In the meantime, how are you holding up?” 

“I’m all right,” answers Castiel, arms firmly crossed over his chest. “I would still like to speak with Jessica at some point.” 

“Want to talk now?” asks Jessica. 

Castiel nods. He’s sat alone with his thoughts long enough and his research on the computer suggested he should seek counsel from a trained professional. “Can we take a walk?” 

“Of course,” she answers.

They leave Sam and Bobby in the kitchen. Jessica lets Castiel begin the conversation. He waits until they are well away from the house before he speaks. 

“I have too many emotions,” he begins. 

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” says Jessica.

“It feels bad.” 

“How so?” 

“It makes it difficult to understand what I’m feeling.” Castiel doesn’t think that makes sense, but his research said it was better to be honest. 

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling now?”

Castiel thinks for a minute. “Angry. Frustrated. Disappointed.” 

“What are you angry about?” 

“I don’t know,” mutters Castiel. He’s angry at a million different things.

“Are you angry with Dean?” 

“Yes, but it’s not just him. It’s—” He’s cut off by the roar of an engine. Without a second thought, he spreads his wings and shoots into the sky. Dean’s car is speeding away from the house. Sam and Bobby are running after it. Castiel perches on the roof of the house as the sleek, black car disappears in a cloud of dust. Castiel clenches his jaw and places a hand over his heart. He expected this to hurt more.  

xxx 

Castiel apologizes to Jessica for leaving so abruptly. She understands when he says he needs some time alone. He retreats to his room. If he listens, he can hear the others talking downstairs. Sam is out looking for Dean. Bobby and Jessica are trying to figure out what comes next.

In a way, he’s glad Dean left. The temptation to stay here and forget the horrors of his past is gone. He decides temptation was all he felt with Dean. It wasn’t affection or the first seeds of love. Dean was right; Castiel doesn’t know how love feels. He’d never seen living romance, just its ghost in his father’s eyes. He knows friendship by process of elimination, but even then his definition could be flawed. Maybe nothing he feels here is real. Perhaps fear drives his desire to understand humanity. 

It doesn’t matter now. Dean was a distraction keeping him from embracing his full potential. This was a lesson he needed to learn. He will not make the same mistake again. He must heal completely before he can interact with anyone else. He needs to be alone. He needs to kill the hunter. He needs to be stronger. 

He stands and looks around the room. Nothing here belongs to him, even the clothes he wears. This is not his home and these people are not his family. He descends the stairs quickly without making a sound. He stops in Bobby’s room to grab a photograph, then he slips through the backdoor, picks a direction and spreads his wings. He’ll find the hunter first.


	21. It'll be over soon

Dean holds the burner phone in both hands. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring at the floor like the carpet fibers are trying to tell him something. The notification light on the phone is blinking. One message. That’s it. That’s all John’s missed. It’s a voicemail from a number Dean doesn’t recognize, but that’s not unusual. Contact information changes frequently in this line of work. 

Cas is MIA; has been since last night. In a few hours the others will come home and Dean will have to explain. 

He sighs. One cluster-fuck at a time. 

He puts the phone on speaker and plays the message. 

_“John? It’s Christian. Spotted your girl in Alaska. Call for coordinates.”_

Dean drops the phone onto the bed beside him. John and Dean went hunting with someone named “Chris” a few times. The message could be from the same guy. He tries not to read too much into “your girl.” That message can’t be about his mother.

Suddenly, the door bangs open downstairs and footsteps echo through the house and up to Dean’s room. He’s on his feet in an instant. 

The voices are all familiar. His family is early.

Sam’s calling for him and he has to make up his mind now. He can answer, confess, and await judgment or he can run.

He hears footsteps on the stairs. He only has seconds left to decide. 

“Dean?” 

Sam is close and Dean is still rooted to the spot. He sighs. “In my room, Sammy,” he calls. Cas is gone. It’s Dean’s fault. He had one fucking job. 

His brother enters the room and closes the distance between them in two steps. He squeezes Dean in a suffocating hug, and then drops him back to the ground. Dean stumbles. Sam’s happy to see him. Sam doesn’t know. 

“Thank you,” says Sam, “and I’m sorry.” 

“What?” asks Dean. 

“Castiel looks great,” says Sam. “He’s healthy and he’s talking. He’s a new man. I’m sorry I doubted you. Bobby said you’ve been great with him.” 

“Cas is here?” 

“Yeah, he met us coming up the driveway,” answers Sam. He’s grinning almost to the point of glowing. “He said he went out to stretch his wings. I don’t know how you got him to want to stay here. Bobby said that’s all you.” Sam laughs. “I don’t know how you fucking did it, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” mutters Dean. “Is everybody downstairs?”

“Yeah.” 

“Then let’s go before they all come up here and camp out in my room to talk,” says Dean. He shoves Sam toward the door.

Sure as shit, when they get into the kitchen, Bobby, Jess, and Cas are standing around the table. Dean tries to make eye contact with the angel, but Cas deliberately ignores him. Dean doesn’t push his luck. At least Cas came back. 

Dean’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he doesn’t have a drink in his hand. He shouldn’t have burned the flask. Rookie mistake. 

Bobby clears his throat. “So, how’ve things been going with you two?” He raises his eyebrows at Dean and it’s an invitation to elaborate. 

“Really good,” answers Dean.

“My condition is much improved,” answers Cas.

Bobby shoots both of them a knowing look. Dean would trade his teeth for a drink right now.

“You seem much stronger,” says Jess. 

“I am,” answers Cas. He still won’t look at Dean. 

An awkward silence settles over the room. Dean’s not sure if he’s being too obvious by staring at Cas or if Cas is being too obvious by refusing to look at Dean. Either way, they’ve draw attention to themselves and now the other three are watching them. Bobby breaks first. 

“Castiel, Dean, let’s go upstairs.”

“What’s going on?” asks Jess. 

Cas and Dean answer at the same time. “Nothing.” 

“Did I miss something?” asks Sam. 

Why did he bother coming back if he was still mad? 

“Cas?” asks Dean. “Can I talk to you alone?” 

“I think we should both talk to Jessica,” he answers. At least Dean has his attention now. Small victories first. 

“Dean?” asks Sam. His voice is earnest and he’s doing that on purpose to compel Dean to talk. 

Everyone is looking to him now, like he’s got all the fucking answers. Cas is the one who flipped out and flew away, but that was because of Dean, wasn’t it? They’re all waiting and he’s got to say something because the silence is making it so much worse.

“I kissed him,” blurts Dean.

Sam and Jess both gasp and Bobby rolls his eyes. 

“That is _not_ why I’m angry,” snaps Cas.

“Then why the fuck did you leave?” demands Dean. This isn’t the time for a shouting match, but prudence does nothing to hinder the argument.

“You said I have Stockholm syndrome,” shouts Cas.

“You don’t even know what that is,” spits Dean. 

“I looked it up on Bobby’s computer.” 

“You don’t know how to use a computer.” 

“Yes I do, Sam showed me.” 

“You were mad before you looked it up. You were mad when we woke up. Hell, you were mad when we went to bed.” 

“If you’re keeping a running tab on my anger, Dean, then you should know I’ve been mad for decades.” 

“Boys,” shouts Bobby. “Do you want to talk about this, or do you want to see who draws first blood?”

“What the hell did we miss?” mutters Jess. “Are you guys together?”

“Ask Dean,” snaps Cas. “He’s more than willing to speak for me.” 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He’s too mad to do this. He knows better. “We’re not together. Cas is just confused. I did things I shouldn’t have done and he doesn’t understand and I just want to fucking apologize so I can leave and not have to bother with this shit anymore.” 

“If you belittle my understanding of this world one more time,” grows Cas. 

“You’ll what?” bites Dean. 

At that, Sam steps between them with his back to Cas. His eyes are wide. “What the fuck?” he asks. “Start from the beginning.” 

Jess tries to usher Cas out of the room, but he holds his ground. “No,” he says. “I want to hear what he has to say.” 

Dean looks from Cas to Sam, weighing his options. 

 _Confess. It’ll be over soon._  

“When Cas came back we made a bonfire and burned some of the stuff he brought back from the hunter’s house.” Dean clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. He preyed upon Cas’ vulnerability. “We drank too much. Went to sleep in my room—in my bed. I told him I didn’t get nightmares when we slept near each other.” The sickness is creeping back. Cas was too kind to let Dean sleep alone. “We woke up later and I kissed him—more than once—and he asked me if I was going to hunt again and if I’d come back here when I was done.” Shit. He left out the part about his weapons. He’s left out a lot. A twisted part of him wishes he could just replay the last few days so everybody could see what went wrong and not have to take his word for it. 

“I broke into your safe,” says Cas.

Dean assumes he’s talking to Bobby, but he doesn’t open his eyes to see. 

“I returned Dean’s weapons and liquor.” 

“Gee thanks,” mutters Bobby. 

Cas doesn’t say more. Dean assumes they’re all waiting on him again. He opens his eyes and stares down at the floor. His nausea subsides. “Something went wrong. I said I wasn’t sure if I’d come back. Cas shut down. Probably because he realized he was in bed with a fucking hunter. We tried to go back to sleep after that, but couldn’t.” Dean should have left. He made it worse by sticking around. “I wanted to clear some things up at dinner, so yeah, I told him he might have Stockholm syndrome or something. I’m not a shrink. He left then you guys showed up.” 

“Is that accurate?” asks Bobby. 

“Yes,” answers Cas. “Though Dean’s account presumes I was not an equal player.” 

“Were you?” asks Jess. 

“Yes,” answers Cas. 

Dean stops listening because Cas doesn’t know any better and that’s been his point all along. Sam is still standing between him and the others like a shield, though Dean’s not sure which side he’s protecting. Dean takes a small step back toward the doorway. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he mutters. 

“It’s ok,” says Sam. At least, Dean thinks that’s what Sam says. Maybe it’s just what he hopes Sam says. 

“I fucked up.” 

“We can fix it,” says Sam. 

“I need to lay down.” He takes another step back and no one stops him. One hand feels behind him until he finds the doorway, then he turns and stumbles upstairs to his room. His duffel is packed. His keys are on the table next to his phone and the burner phone.

The light is blinking on the burner. He checks it. Three missed calls. It starts buzzing in his hand and Dean answers it. 

“John?” asks the caller. 

“Dean.” 

“I need to talk to your dad. This is Christian. Tell him it’s urgent.”

“He’s dead.” Dean’s dizzy and only half-listening.

“Oh,” says Christian. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“What’s so urgent?” asks Dean.

“It’s a demon.”

Dean bites his lip. “Is it my mom?”

“Yes,” stammers Christian. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew.”

“Where is she?” 

“Alaska. She’s been here for a while. Not sure what she’s doing.”

“Text me the coordinates,” says Dean. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

He hangs up the phone and moves automatically for his keys. His job is done here and he wasn’t any good at it anyway. He can’t stop hunting while something is walking around wearing Mary’s body.

He grabs his stuff and opens his window. He crawls out onto the roof and clambers down to the ground. He hasn’t escaped from Bobby’s house in years, but it feels so damn familiar. He can almost hear the Impala waiting for him at the end of the driveway with John behind the steering wheel.

Dean throws his bag into the passengers seat and cranks up the engine, alone. He hears shouting from the house, but he doesn’t look back as he hits the gas. He speeds down the driveway and floors it once he hits the road. Whatever was growing in him is dead now. He’s got one job and one person to worry about. His other life is behind him standing on Bobby’s porch. 

xxx 

Dean drives until he can’t. He pulls over somewhere north of Edmonton. He sent Christian a text when he crossed into Canada. He told him he’d let him know once he reached Alaska. Christian is staying in Fairbanks and the demon is still nearby.

Dean settles into the back seat of the Impala to sleep. Four hours should be enough. He sets an alarm on his phone and pulls his coat over him. 

Christian knows about Mary, about her body. He knows because John told him. Of course John knew and of course he didn’t warn Dean. Why? God only knows. Dean falls asleep trying to remember all of the words to Hey Jude.

He wakes up with a crick in his neck, half an hour before his alarm goes off. He grumbles to himself as he pulls back onto the highway. He didn’t dream. Sam and Bobby and Jess have called him. He’s got messages from them on both phones. He doesn’t know what they say and he hasn’t read any of their texts. Sam still doesn’t know the demon is wearing their mother’s body. He doesn’t know Dean thinks she could still be alive. Maybe Bobby knows. Maybe John told him. Maybe when he sees Mary she’ll recognize him and he can save her.

He shakes his head trying to banish the thought. He can’t get distracted by what-ifs this time. Hope will get him killed.


	22. Nephilim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot happened...

Castiel waits in the darkness of the Hoh Rainforest, perched high in a giant spruce tree. He flew low over several towns along the way. If there are any hunters in the area, they’ll know he’s close. He’s positioned well away from any trails. Anyone who finds him will be someone looking for a monster. 

He’s been here for several hours. He was careful to leave a trail of feathers and broken branches. He even let tendrils of his grace sink into the ground and shake the earth. Several humans are nearby. They could be hunters. One of them could be his hunter. 

A man with light brown hair steps clear of the trees. He’s got a gun in his hands and a dark scowl on his face.

Twigs snap behind Castiel as another human approaches. They were wise not to travel alone. The second man is close to the base of the tree and is also armed with a gun. 

Castiel dives. 

He knocks the first man to the ground and disarms him. He takes a bullet to his wing before he rounds on the other man. He destroys the second gun, but neither hunter is backing down. They’re prepared. One of them throws liquid on his back and it burns like fire. The other draws his knife and lunges. 

Castiel grabs him by the wrist and tugs until he hears a snap. It would be easier to force them into unconsciousness, but he needs the fight more than the victory. He needs to witness his strength. He takes the fallen knife and plunges it deep into the man’s belly, then drops him. 

Before the other hunter can help his companion, Castiel turns and tackles him to the ground. He stands up before the man has a chance to crawl away and slams his heel down hard on the hunter’s thigh. Bones crack and the hunter screams. 

Castiel drags the two bleeding men to the base of his tree and props them against the trunk. One of them begins to beg while the other clutches his leg and glares. 

Castiel pulls a photograph from his pocket. He crouches low and shows the hunters the image of a haggard face with pale eyes and shaggy blond hair. The man in the picture is happier than Castiel ever saw him in person. He’s holding a small girl in his arms and smiling. He retrieved the photograph from Bobby’s room, but he assumes Bobby retrieved it from the hunter’s house. 

He makes sure both men are paying attention. “Do you recognize this man?” he growls. 

The hunter with the broken arm whimpers. “Please let us go.” 

“Do you recognize him?” repeats Castiel, this time louder. 

The hunter clutching his thigh spits blood and saliva at Castiel. 

“Please,” begs the other man. “We’ve never seen him before.” 

The man with the broken arm begins to cry as he begs for his life. The other man grits his teeth, prepared to die. 

 _Monster._  

Castiel stumbles back, wings flaring to steady himself. Both hunters flinch. 

_Save them, monster._

He stares wide-eyed at the men. He is a monster. But maybe instead of running from his wickedness, he can embrace it. Not everyone is lucky enough to be so warped by torment that they become numb to it. 

He watches the crying man as he clutches his stomach to stop the bleeding. Castiel is numb to it. He feels nothing. For the first time since Sam and Bobby found him, he feels nothing again. Nothing can hurt him. Nothing can stop him. 

He stands and drags the crying man to his feet. He places his palm on the man’s forehead and wills his grace to mend the broken places in the human’s body. Castiel is clumsy and inexperienced with healing and the man screams, but he survives and the bleeding stops. Color returns to his face and after a minute he grows quiet and gapes at Castiel. 

He drops the man back to the ground. “I believe you,” he says, tapping the photograph. “Now, run.” 

Without a second thought for his companion, the hunter disappears into the forest. 

Castiel turns to the man still glaring at him from the ground. “Do you recognize this man?” he asks again. 

He doesn’t answer. He’s pale and his breathing is labored. He’s still glaring, but his eyes are unfocused. 

Castiel grabs one of his fingers and snaps it. The man screams. His heartbeat is erratic. 

“Answer me,” shouts Castiel. 

“I don’t know him,” screams the man. 

Castiel grabs his hair and slams his head back against the tree. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” cries the hunter. 

Castiel again lets his grace flow into the human. He heals his leg and finger but does nothing for the bleeding, throbbing knot on the back of his skull. 

He steps back, returns the photograph to his pocket, and takes off. 

xxx 

He repeats this process again and again; reaping minor leads for his efforts. One hunter recognizes the man in the photo and says he is insane. Another hunter knows him, but does not share any information until Castiel threatens her husband. His hunter went north chasing another angel. 

He finds another hunter later who confirms her story, though no one knows where he went or how long he’s been gone. Frustrated, Castiel corners a man in an alley one night in Seattle. 

He slams the hunter against the cold concrete of the building behind him and grows. He keeps his voice low to avoid calling attention to them. He’s got one hand over the hunter’s mouth and he’s so close he can smell the blood dripping from the human’s nose. 

“It is impossible that no one knows him,” hisses Castiel. 

The hunter is trembling as he struggles to hold himself upright. 

“You must know something,” says Castiel. “Nod your head. Do you know him?” 

The hunter’s eyes droop and he doesn’t respond. He stops shaking. 

“Answer me,” growls Castiel. 

His breathing slows. 

Castiel steps back and lets him slump to the ground. He watches as minor convulsions make the human twitch. 

A hand clamps down on Castiel’s shoulder. Someone shoves him away from the human and he falls. As he stumbles back to his feet, he sees a bright light, hot and powerful. The light silhouettes a figure hovering above the hunter. A glowing hand reaches down and touches the hunter’s cheek. 

The human’s eyes snap open and he stares open-mouthed at the figure above him. It pulls him up, and then steps aside. He runs. 

The light rounds on Castiel. It rushes forward and suddenly they’re far away from the city, surrounded by darkness and trees. The light dims and a woman forms. Two massive white wings glimmer behind her in the moonlight. Her eyes glow then that light also fades. 

When she speaks, her voice is deep and commanding. “It gives me no pleasure to kill one of my own,” she says, “but you must be punished.” 

Castiel’s mind is still back in the alley. He’s still reeling from the light. “You’re an angel,” he breathes. 

The woman frowns. “Aren’t you?” 

Castiel almost laughs. As if she can’t smell the stain of humanity in his blood. “I’m a half-breed,” he answers. 

She blinks as though his species makes a difference. A wisp of light uncurls from her hand and disappears around Castiel.

“You are human and angel,” she says. “Why are you hunting humans?” 

“Hunters,” corrects Castiel. “I’m hunting hunters.” 

“Can you possess a body?” she asks. 

Castiel shakes his head. “I am very much confined to the one I was born with.” 

“Then why are you attacking people?’ 

“I’m only attacking hunters,” he corrects again. “I need information on another hunter. I need to find him.” 

“Why?” 

“He is wicked.” 

The woman appears unmoved. 

“He killed my family—my father.” Why is he telling her this? 

“Was your father angel or human?” 

“Angel.” 

“You think killing this man will lessen the loss of your father?” 

“No,” snaps Castiel. “And I never said I intend to kill him.” He feels a sting in the center of his chest. 

“It seems fair to draw that conclusion.” 

Castiel sighs. “Are you going to kill me or can I go?” 

“I haven’t decided yet,” she answers. “What is your name?” 

His chest stings again. “Castiel.” 

“My name is Anna. I am the guardian of this region.” She examines him, still scowling. “I will keep you,” she says.

Castiel flinches away from her. “No,” he shouts. “I will not be owned.” 

She makes a strange motion with her hand. “Elaborate.”

He clutches a hand to his chest. She’s compelling him to speak using grace. Can he do that? Can he counter the effect? He stares back at her and concentrates on the feeling in his chest. After a minute, something snaps and it’s easier to breathe. 

Anna tilts her head to one side. “So you can fight back,” she says. “Interesting.”

For maybe the millionth time in his life, Castiel finds himself negotiating the terms of his release. The terms are always the same. “Either kill me,” he says, “or let me go.” 

Anna nods. “Eventually, I will do one or the other. But I will keep you until I’ve made my decision.” 

Castiel flares his wings. “No.” 

“Do not challenge me,” she warns. “You will lose.” 

He could flee. He’s fast, much faster than he was even as a child. He stands his ground. He will not run. He will fight and maybe die, and then maybe this will all be over. 

Anna plants her feet, ready to meet his charge.

Castiel knows better than to attack first, but his blood is surging through his veins and he will not be held captive again. He lunges. 

Anna grabs his shoulder, flicks her wrist, something snaps and Castiel collapses onto his stomach. She touches his arm and heals the break, then plants her foot in the center of his back to keep him from standing again. “Surely you didn’t think that would work,” she says. 

Castiel struggles, but she has him pinned. 

“Use your grace,” she says. 

Castiel huffs a laugh. If the world is full of sadists, he must be a masochist. 

“No?” she asks. “I win? Just like that?” She laughs. “A real angel would not surrender so quickly,” she says. “What would your father think?” 

Castiel growls and places both hands beneath him and attempts to push himself up. 

“Grace,” she says. 

“Is this a game to you?” he grunts. 

“No,” she answers. “It is as painful for me as it is humiliating for you.” 

Castiel can feel rage beginning to burn through him.

Anna presses her foot harder into his back. “Take my advice or die in the dirt like your human ancestors.” She pauses and Castiel can almost hear the taunt before she says it. “Die in the dirt, as I’m sure your mother did when she gave birth to you.”

That’s the tipping point. He pushes against the ground, grace curling between muscles to boost his strength. He throws the angel off and charges as she tumbles back. He grabs her shoulders and holds her against a tree. “How do you know about that?” he demands. 

Anna sighs. Her expression is not one of shock or fear; it’s pity. “Human mothers rarely survive.” 

Castiel releases her. “What?” 

“And most nephilim do not live as long as you have.” 

His body chills and the change in energy and temperature is too much. He’s dizzy. 

Anna takes a step forward. “Did you think you were the only one?” 

“Nephilim,” repeats Castiel. 

“That’s what you are.”

_Monster. Mongrel. Half-breed. Hybrid. Abomination._

“There are others?” he asks. 

“A few,” she answers. “Would you like to meet one?” 

Castiel doesn’t answer, so she steps closer and takes his hand. 

“Come with me,” she says. It’s an invitation, not a command. 

“All right,” mummers Castiel. 

xxx 

Anna takes him to a house on the edge of an island. The living room window looks out over the sea. She leads him into the house, still holding his hand. Anna travels in bursts of light powered by grace. Castiel’s not sure it really counts as flying.

“The nephilim you are going to meet is still a child,” says Anna. “Her name is Claire. Angels killed her parents because her creation was an act of treason. Her mother was an angel and her father was human.” 

Castiel is still too stunned to speak, so Anna continues.

“Naomi was Claire’s mother. I don’t know if you knew her, but Naomi knew Carolus.” 

Castiel jumps at the name, his father’s name; a name he hasn’t heard or dared to speak in decades. 

Anna must sense his discomfort, because she extends her grace through their linked hands and Castiel feels, rather than hears, her apology. 

“Sit,” she says, releasing his hand. She nudges him toward a piece of overstuffed furniture that vaguely resembles a chair with no back. 

The seat is comfortable and high enough that Castiel’s wings do not touch the floor when he sits. 

Anna leaves. Castiel hears voices from the back of the house. 

 _Carolus_.

The hunter never knew his father’s name. It was the only thing he was unable to take. Castiel gave up his own name after only a few days alone, but he never gave up Carolus. Anna said it so casually. Did she know him? 

A male voice gets Castiel’s attention. A light flashes and suddenly he’s not alone anymore. A man, another angel with large white wings, stands in front of him grinning. “Cool,” says the angel. “Black wings.” He extends his hand to Castiel. “I’m Gabriel.”

Anna interrupts him. “I told you to wait,” she says. 

“And then you said he was a nephilim,” says Gabriel. “I’m gonna get Balthazar.” 

“No,” shouts Anna. 

But Gabriel has already disappeared in a flash of light. 

“Dammit,” she mutters. 

Gabriel reappears just as suddenly, this time accompanied by a man and a woman.

“This is the new guy,” he says. “New guy, this is Balthazar and Jophiel.” He gestures to the man and the woman respectively. 

“His name is Castiel,” says Anna. 

“Can he hide his wings?” asks Balthazar. 

“Can you hid your wings?” asks Jophiel. 

Castiel shakes his head. 

There is another flash of light and the two newcomers manifest their wings. They are white like Gabriel’s and Anna’s. 

Balthazar nudges Anna. “And you say we don’t have manners.” 

“I’ve never seen black wings before,” says Jophiel. 

“They’re weird, right?” asks Gabriel. “I mean cool-weird, but still—weird.” Something resembling a small bolt of lightening strikes Gabriel from the side. He jumps and clutches at the scorch mark. 

“I warned you,” says Anna. 

“Excessive,” snaps Gabriel. “I clarified ‘cool-weird’.” 

Balthazar and Jophiel snicker, but the room quiets when a small voice calls out. 

“Anna?” 

A child emerges from the hall and immediately seeks refuge behind Anna. 

Castiel jumps to his feet. This is not reality. He cannot be with other angels. There isn’t someone else like him. He’s been captured again, or maybe he’s dying, still in the darkness of the alleyway. This is an illusion. This is not his world. 

“Whoops,” mutters Gabriel. “Too far.”

Castiel tries to back away, but the ridiculous chair is blocking him. He does a bumbling sort of side step with no real destination in mind. Beyond the chair is the wall. Beyond the wall is a world in which he is not welcome. But this isn’t real—it can’t be—it’s a dream, and he cannot run from a dream. 

“Take it easy, Castiel,” says Gabriel. 

“I told you,” says Anna. The little girl, presumably Claire, clinging to her leg holds her to the spot. 

“You also said he’s an adult. I didn’t think he’d scare so easily.” 

“You three are enough to scare anyone,” snaps Anna. 

Castiel closes his eyes. His world is dark and bloody and lonesome. He almost had a family, but he left them. He misses them. He misses Bobby and Sam and Jessica and Dean. His mind is over-compensating. He’s built himself a clean bright house with loud, enthusiastic people in a desperate attempt to save his sanity. It’s a spectacular failure. 

Hands close over his. He didn’t realize his hands were clenched into fists until strong, but gentle fingers intertwine with his. 

“Castiel?” asks Anna. 

Dreams can speak. They can speak, shout, sing, hurt, break; anything he can imagine, his dreams can make it seem real. 

 _Dean._  

He tries to conjure the hunter. He imagines Dean apologizing and cupping his cheek in that soothing way he touches Castiel. 

Something tugs at one of his long flight feathers and he quickly opens his eyes. 

Claire steps away from him, hands clutched to her chest and head ducked in apology. Her wings are charcoal gray, but he can detect shadows of blue in the light. She’s small, too small to be alone and younger than he was when he was alone. 

“Sorry,” she whispers. She retreats to Anna’s side.

Castiel looks from the girl, to the other angels. “This does not feel real,” he says. 

“I know,” says Anna. She’s still holding his hands. “It will be a difficult adjustment, but you will become accustomed to it soon.” 

“I don’t want to stay,” says Castiel. 

“Nobody’s forcing you,” says Gabriel. 

Anna bites her lip. “I sort of threatened him to get him to come here.” 

“Of course you did,” mutters Gabriel. “You’ve got serious anger management problems.” 

“You don’t have to stay,” says Anna. “I just wanted you to see us and meet Claire.” 

Castiel nods. 

“You’ll have to stop hunting the people in my territory, though,” adds Anna. 

He nods again. 

Anna releases his hands and steps back, ushering Claire along with her. “It was nice to meet you,” says Anna. 

“Nice to meet you,” echoes Claire quietly.

Castiel inches toward the door and no one moves to stop him. 

“Bye,” says Gabriel, sounding somewhat reluctant. 

Balthazar and Jophiel wave. 

“Sorry about the wings thing,” says Jophiel. “Nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah,” says Balthazar. “Ditto.” 

Castiel moves to the door without turning his back to them. Gabriel was right, no one is forcing him to stay. 

“You know you don’t have to leave straight away, right?” asks Anna. “You are welcome to stay the night.” 

Is that a trap? Perhaps he’s found the caveat. They force him here, let him think he has a choice, then when he stays, he’s imprisoned and it’s by his how freewill. That seems like the right level of twisted for his reality. Perhaps this isn’t a dream. 

His hand lands on the doorknob. It’s not locked. He opens the door and backs outside into the night. He shuts the door and keeps backing away. Maybe they want to hunt him. Maybe that’s the caveat. He puts as much distance between him and the house as he can without flying. The front yard drops off in a steep decline that ends in the sea. Waves lap at the rocks below him. He waits for one of the angels to leave, waits for the hunt to begin. They can probably sense him still standing there.

Nothing happens. He can hear voices inside the house. He sees figures move through the curtains covering the windows. 

He belongs outside, separated from the warm light of the house. He belongs alone. He knows how to be alone. He can’t form a bond with people knowing one day it will break due to cruelty or inevitability. He can’t lose another family. He’s not strong enough.

He wants to be.


	23. Belong

Castiel approaches the door. He was allowed to return to bed with Dean after choosing to leave. He was allowed to return to Bobby’s after choosing to leave. Maybe he is allowed to return here as well. Maybe leaving isn’t permanent. Maybe returning isn’t permanent either. Maybe this is freedom. 

He knocks. He’s been standing outside staring at the house for an hour. He knows they are all still gathered in the living room. The house quiets as soon as his knuckles meet wood. 

It’s Gabriel who swings the door open and invites him back inside. “Missing us already?” he asks. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. 

“Really?” asks Gabriel. 

“Yes,” repeats Castiel. It must have been a joke. Dean had similarly surprised reactions when Castiel responded to sarcasm with honesty. He glances around the room and stops at Claire.

She’s sitting beside Anna wiping tears away from her eyes. 

“Welcome back,” says Anna. 

Balthazar hands him a drink.

“He’s going to need something stronger than that,” says Jophiel. 

“That’s 150 proof,” says Balthazar, pointing to the drink. 

“Mix it with this,” she says, handing Castiel another bottle.

Gabriel intervenes and takes the bottle instead, then turns to Castiel. “If you learn nothing else while you’re here,” he says, “know that you should never, ever take drink advice from these two.” 

Castiel is still watching Claire. “Is she hurt?” he asks. 

Her chubby cheeks turn bright pink and she fidgets with the hem of her nightgown. 

“She’s never met another nephilim,” answers Anna. “She’s glad you’re back.” 

Claire clutches the sleeve of Anna’s shirt and mutters something. 

Castiel is suddenly very aware he’s the only one in the room with a bare torso. He shifts his wings, immediately embarrassed. He’s in a room full of angels and the movement does not go unnoticed. 

“Sorry,” says Gabriel. “Sometimes I’m actually as rude as Anna claims. Do you want to change clothes? You can borrow some of mine.” 

Castiel examines Gabriel’s shirt and notices buttons at the base on either side of his back. Long slits in the fabric allow for his wings and the buttons secure the back of the garment to the front. He’s never worn a shirt before, but the others seem comfortable. 

“Come on,” says Gabriel. “I’ll show you around the house, and get you changed. Are you hungry?” 

Castiel is starving and his stomach answers before he does. 

Gabriel laughs. “Or we can do food first.” 

Castiel’s cheeks burn, but Gabriel doesn’t seem offended or put off. He motions for Castiel to follow him into the kitchen. 

“Food is so much better in this dimension,” say Gabriel, “but angel booze is the best—pair that with some pizza and I’m in paradise.” He pulls out a chair, then goes to the fridge. 

Castiel notices all the furniture in the house is elevated to accommodate the length of wings when someone sites down. 

“Speaking of which,” continues Gabriel. “We’ve got cold leftover pizza. You want some?” 

“Yes, please,” answers Castiel. He’s still looking back toward the living room. The others seem to be giving him space. 

“You want to go back in there?” asks Gabriel. 

“Not particularly,” answers Castiel. 

“Ok, just checking. Anna said if you came back in the house we had to behave better and not crowd you.” 

“You knew I was waiting outside?” 

“Yeah, but I was pretty sure you were going to leave. Glad I didn’t put any money on that.” 

Castiel smiles to himself. Dean’s used a similar expression. It is a reference to betting and he understands it. 

“Do you want me to heat this up?” asks Gabriel. He has a plate with a few slices of pizza on it. 

“No thank you,” answers Castiel. He had pizza one night with Sam, Jessica and Bobby. He’s familiar with the dish and it’s another thing he does not have to ask about. 

“Suit yourself,” says Gabriel, passing him the plate. 

Castiel eats quickly and Gabriel reheats the rest of the pizza because “you’ll want more later, and I can’t, in good conscious, let you keeping eating it cold.” He does this despite Castiel’s insistence that he’s full. 

Once he’s finished his meal, Gabriel shows him around the house. The ceilings are high, the doorways are wide and rooms are spacious. Everything is designed just on the cusp of inconspicuous so if a human stopped by, the home could pass for unique instead specifically-tailored-for-angels. 

There are four bedrooms in total; one for Claire, Anna, Gabriel and then the spare room. They are currently in Gabriel’s room searching for clothing. 

“Where do Balthazar and Jophiel stay?” asks Castiel. 

“They don’t live with us,” answers Gabriel. “Their turf is across the pond in the UK.” 

“UK?” 

“United Kingdom.” 

Castiel has learned enough basic geography to understand that is very far away from their current location. He assumes they are still somewhere in or near the Pacific Northwest since Anna said Seattle was part of her territory. That leads him to another question. 

“Why do you have different territories?” he asks. “Do all angels have territory?” 

Gabriel shakes his head. “Nah, we’re kind of self-appointed guardians of certain places around the world. It doesn’t always work out so well though. Anna was stationed on the east coast about 400 years ago. They saw her use her grace and thought she was a witch. Bunch of assholes tried to kill her.” 

“400 years ago?” asks Castiel. He’s a child by comparison. 

“Yeah. I showed up, flashed my wings, told them to layoff. They felt super bad about it. Begged for mercy; ‘spare us, O Lord.’ It ended up being a pretty sweet ego boost for me. Anna’s still kind of bitter about it.” 

“You must have seen so much,” murmurs Castiel, “so much history.” 

Gabriel shrugs. “I guess. We go back and forth from this world to home. Turns out, dimension hopping wreaks havoc on your age.” He finishes pawing through his closet, then tosses an armful of clothes to Castiel. “Bathroom is right across from your room. Technically we’ve got two bathrooms, but Anna and Claire have claimed the other one and the flower smell is so strong it’s like someone’s beating you to death with a garden.” He makes a face. “Claire is going through this candle collecting phase and it’s just impossible to say no to her when she wants something. You can share my bathroom. Towels and soap and stuff are on the shelf.” 

“Thank you,” says Castiel. 

“Welcome,” answers Gabriel. “And one more thing, if you don’t feel like coming back out to hang with us, don’t worry about it. I don’t know what your story is, but clearly you’ve seen some shit. If you want to just relax in your room, or raid the kitchen or take a walk or flight or whatever that’s fine. You’re a guest. You can do what you want.” 

Castiel cocks his head to the side, eyebrow raised. “Did Anna tell you to say that?” 

Gabriel rubs the back of his neck. “Kinda. We’re also not supposed to pressure you to talk and we have to respect your boundaries. Don’t get me wrong,” he hurries to clarify, “we’d do that stuff anyway. Anna’s just the nicest one around here so we defer to her judgment.” 

“You all seem very nice to me,” says Castiel. 

Gabriel grins. “You just haven’t gotten to know us yet.” 

He leaves and Castiel goes into the bathroom. He scrubs himself clean. He does what he can to rid his wings of dirt and human blood, but he can’t quite reach some of the feathers. After a while, he stops trying and just lets the warm water pound against his back. He leans his forehead against the tile and closes his eyes. The water pressure is comforting, almost like fingers carding through his feathers. 

He rests a hand over his heart, but that does little to combat the hollow feeling in his chest.

xxx 

Castiel gets dressed. He struggles with the shirt, but eventually figures it out. When he returns to the living room Anna gives him an encouraging smile and invites him to sit with her and Claire on the couch. 

Claire watches his every move. He sits beside her and she twists to face him. “Were your wings always black?” she asks. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “My father had black wings too.” 

She frowns. 

“Our wings are unique,” he adds. “That’s a good thing.” 

Claire nods. “Do your wings go away?” 

“No.” Castiel notices the room is quiet. The others are listening. 

“Have you met any humans?” she asks. 

“Yes.” 

Claire gasps. “What are they like? Are they nice or are they bad?” 

“They are all different,” answers Castiel. “They have different personalities, just like angels.” 

“How old are you?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“I’m five.” She holds up her fingers to illustrate the point. “My birthday was last week. When is your birthday?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

Claire squints at him. “We need to get you a birthday. You can share mine until we know when yours is.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Welcome.” She yawns. 

Anna pets her hair. “Bedtime,” she says. 

“No,” says Claire. “I’m not sleepy.” 

“I am,” says Castiel. 

“Me too,” says Gabriel. He shoots Balthazar and Jophiel a look and they agree. 

“We’ll all go to bed,” says Anna. “That way you won’t miss anything.” 

Claire crosses her arms. “Don’t patronize me. You’re just going to send me to bed and keep talking.” 

“We won’t,” says Castiel. 

Claire sighs. “No, go ahead.” She slides off of the couch and takes Anna’s hand. “Bedtime was two hours ago. I don’t want to sleep late and miss anything in the morning.” She sighs again. “It’s nice to meet you Castiel. I’m very glad you came back.” 

“Me too,” he says. 

Seemingly satisfied, she bids the room goodnight and leaves with Anna in tow. 

“Precocious little thing,” mutters Balthazar. 

“You should hear her when she gets mad,” says Gabriel. “She’ll make a hell of a guardian one day.” 

“She’ll be a guardian?” asks Castiel. 

“That’s what she says she wants to do,” answers Gabriel. 

“Could I be a guardian?” 

“Sure,” answers Gabriel. “Anna’ll have to approve you, but we can teach you and assign you a territory if that’s what you want.” 

Castiel tries not to let himself get excited. He curls his wings around his shoulders. He’d be in charge of protecting humans. He needs to prove he can defend instead of destroy. 

“Why does that upset you?” asks Jophiel. 

“I’m not upset,” answers Castiel.

“You look upset,” says Balthazar. 

“You don’t have to be a guardian,” says Gabriel. 

Anna returns. She examines Castiel for a moment, then sits beside him and extends a large white wing behind him. “Did they give you any trouble while I was gone?” she asks.

“No,” answers Castiel. 

“He asked about being a guardian,” says Balthazar. 

“I can teach you to be a guardian,” says Anna. “If that’s what you want.” 

“Thank you,” says Castiel. He knows they’re waiting for him to say more. He doesn’t mean to abandon the conversation. At some point they will want to know about his past. They trust him enough to let him stay. They trust him to be around a child. Anna knows what he’s capable of; the destruction he leaves in his wake. But she doesn’t know everything. They deserve to know. 

He bites his lip and stares at the floor. “Before you decide to let me stay in your house,” he begins, “it’s only fair that you know my history.” 

Anna pulls him closer with her wing and rests a hand on his knee. “You don’t owe us an explanation,” she says. 

“I’d like to tell you now,” says Castiel. 

_Before it’s too late._

The angels do not stop him. Balthazar pours another drink and passes it to Castiel. He swallows the contents of the glass in one gulp. Balthazar hands him the bottle. 

Castiel takes another drink before he starts talking. Whatever Balthazar gave him is more potent than Dean’s liquor. He starts with his mother. He does his best to explain his father’s wrath against humans; he was only trying to defend his son. Castiel takes another drink when he introduces the hunter. He keeps it brief—“I was his prisoner for years”—and struggles to find a way to explain the many, many lives he could have saved had he not been so selfish. His entire life is summed up in just a few sentences. At some point, Anna takes his hand in hers. The hollow feeling spreads through his chest again. 

When he begins to explain his escape, he leaves Dean out of the story. He’s not sure why. In this version no one sings him through his nightmares. No one lets him pretend to fly. No one helps him burn away his past. No one teaches him to be human. His time at Bobby’s is much easier to explain without Dean. 

He ends his story by telling them he healed enough to find the hunter. The kind humans helped him recover and let him leave when he was ready. That’s it. 

The angels wait a moment to make sure he’s done with his story. Their silence encourages him. 

“I didn’t share my story with you in an attempt to elicit sympathy,” says Castiel. “I wanted you all to know I may not be mentally stable enough to watch over a territory, or even stay in your home.” 

“You are not the first abused nephilim to stay in this house,” says Anna. “I hope you don’t feel like you have to confess to us.”

“But it’s nice that you’re honest,” adds Jophiel. 

“We should probably be honest, too,” says Gabriel. “We’re guardians now, but we all began as warriors and man, I’ve killed a shitload of people.” He grins and for the first time it doesn’t look sincere.

“Same here,” says Balthazar. “Though, I’d wager Jo’s killed more than both of us combined.” He nods to Jophiel. 

“Demons don’t count,” says Jophiel. 

Balthazar laughs. “Spoken like a stone-cold killer.” 

“Point being,” says Anna, “you’re in good company. We’re all a little fucked up and more than a little damaged. I’ve got a feeling you’ll fit in with us just fine.” 

Castiel relaxes his wings a little. Every time he tells his story, his memories sting a little less and it’s a little easier for him to believe he could belong.

 


	24. One Last Time

Christian is about ten years older than John. He started hunting when an angel tried to possess his daughter. It attacked him and his wife. He killed it, but couldn’t save his family. Over a bottle of scotch, He tells Dean he’s been hunting ever since. 

“This life isn’t for everybody,” says Christian. He downs the rest of his drink and slides the glass to the center of the table. 

“Amen to that,” says Dean. He finishes his drink and pours two more for them. 

“Just about killed your daddy when your kid brother left.” 

“Yeah,” mutters Dean, “but Sammy was made for bigger and better things.” 

Christian downs his drink in one gulp. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Nothing’s bigger and better than hunting. We’re in the shit every goddamn day saving this world so limp-dick little bitches can get up, brush their teeth, drink their coffee and tell themselves they’re making a difference.” 

Dean sips his scotch. “This life isn’t for everybody.” 

“Mark my words. One day those bastards will come for our world.” He pours another glass. “They’ll cherry-pick the best and brightest among us to serve them and everybody else is going to be monster chow.” He nods to Dean. “Men like us make it possible for men like your brother to keep their hands clean.” 

Dean takes another sip and swallows hard.

“World’s full of ingrates,” mutters Christian. 

Dean clenches his jaw. “So,” he begins, “you said you had a map?”

Christian gestures behind Dean to a roll of paper on the counter. 

Dean retrieves it. He stumbles as he crosses the kitchen. Christian is stationed in a small studio apartment. The floor is littered with bottles, newspaper clippings and empty ammo boxes. Dean arrived earlier in the day, ready to hunt. Christian said he’s kept a thorough record of the places he’s seen the demon. Dean unrolls the map on the table. 

“It was a real pain in my ass, tracking her down,” says Christian. 

Dean looks over the map. It’s covered in red dots where Christian marked sightings of his mother. “I appreciate you keeping tabs on the demon,” says Dean. “I owe you one.” 

Christian clears his throat. “I was hoping you’d say that.” 

Dean looks up from the map. 

 _Goddamn me and my big mouth._  

“I’ve got a little monster problem of my own,” says Christian. “I could use a partner.” 

“What’s the problem?” 

“It’s a delicate situation,” says Christian. “Your daddy knew about it. He didn’t tell you?” 

“He never told me much of anything.” 

Christian sips his scotch. “When I called,” he says, “I was disappointed it wasn’t John who answered.” 

“Join the club,” mutters Dean. 

“But then I realized, he probably taught you everything he knew. You’re Winchester 2.0.” 

“Are we making a deal, or what?” asks Dean. 

“Easy, son,” says Christian. “We can trust each other. I’ll admit, I tailed you from the border into town to make sure you weren’t bringing any unwanted company.” 

“You tailed me?” Dean didn’t even notice he was being followed. 

“No hard feelings. A man never knows whom he can trust. But you’re one of the good ones, like your daddy. I can trust you.”

Dean takes another sip. “I guess that’s fair,” he says. 

_Please don’t be a psycho._

“Glad you see it my way.” He fidgets with his glass. “So. I help you track down Mary and you’ll help me track down my monster.” 

“What’s your monster?” 

“Does it matter? They’re all the same.” 

Dean bites his lip. 

Christian laughs. “You drive a hard bargain. It’s a demon.” 

“Why are you hunting it?”

“Because it’s a demon.” 

“Why do you need my help?” 

“Let’s call it ‘the one that got away.’ I don’t want to lose it again.” 

“Ok,” says Dean, extending his hand. It doesn’t matter if the other hunter is telling the truth (he suspects Christian is lying). Dean needs help. “It’s a deal.” 

Christian grins and shakes his hand. “You’re a shrewd businessman, Winchester.” 

xxx 

They search Fairbanks for the demon, but don’t find it. Dean searches local papers for any signs of his mother. He’s looking for anything; sightings of a mysterious woman, sudden deaths of children or young adults, ghost reports, anything out of the ordinary. They pick up her trail heading north toward Barrow. It’s not hard to find. The demon is feeding. Alaskan officials believe it’s a disease that’s killing the children. 

It’s not a disease. Children are just easier to consume. The demon will be strong when they find her. 

They pack what they need for the hunt and head north. Dean leaves the Impala at Christian’s apartment. If they hit snow, they’ll need something with 4-wheel drive. They take Christian’s SUV. It’s loaded with weapons, food, water, and tire chains should the roads get icy. 

Christian drives. The stereo is broken in his car. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I like to think before a hunt.” He sits forward in his seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel. He reaches up to adjust the rear-view mirror. 

Dean follows the movement, and that’s when he sees it. A small, single black feather dangles on a leather band from the mirror. He forces himself to look away before the other hunter catches him staring. Dean grits his teeth. He’s suddenly very cold. It’s hard to breathe. 

 _That doesn’t prove anything._  

He bites his lip. It proves everything. It had to be someone he knew. There are so few hunter, it was inevitable. Of course he was a friend of John’s. Of course he was lying about the deal. Of course Dean agreed help him hunt Cas. 

 _Kill him._  

Dean breathes through the rage. The demon wearing his mother is too strong. He’s going to need help. Knowing Christian is expendable will help in the fight. He can serve as bait, or a distraction or a shield. 

 _Can’t trust him._  

Dean doesn’t need to trust him. He just needs to get to Mary. He’s not sure if Christian knows where Cas is staying. This could be a trap. But the sightings were real. It would take the majority of the hunting network to fake that many sightings. Maybe it’s revenge. Maybe the other hunters found out about Bobby. Maybe they’re descending on the house right now. 

Dean pulls out his phone. No signal. He can’t warn his family. He only read the texts he ignored on the road from Sioux Falls. They’re all from Sam. They all say some variation of the same thing—come home—except the last one. 

[Castiel left right after you. We don’t think he’s coming back.] 

Dean deletes the message. He doesn’t want Christian to see Cas’ name in his phone, should the hunter go looking. Christian says they can’t drive all the way to Mary. They’re heading to Prudhoe Bay. They’ll improvise from there. Dean has about 14 hours to come up with a plan. 

xxx 

Nothing. Dean’s got nothing, no plan, no backup, and no way to contact the others. 14 hours later, they pull into the parking lot of the only hotel with a vacancy. It’s cold and and small and strangely beautiful. The hotel is an oasis in the middle of an arctic desert. 

Dean offers to take their overnight bags to the room while Christian looks into a flight to Barrow. The hotel has Wi-Fi. It’s a small blessing. Dean throws a bag on each bed, then shoots off an email to Sam, Bobby and Jess. 

…

_I’m with Christian. I know he’s the asshat who captured Cas. We’re tracking a demon. Don’t come looking for me. Might be a trap. Be careful. Keep Cas out of sight. I don’t know how much he knows. You guys might be in danger._

… 

He slams his laptop shut when he hears the door start to open. Christian enters. 

“I’m going to see if we can charter a prop plane for the morning,” he says. “Weather permitting, we should be closing in on your demon in a few days.” 

“Great,” says Dean. His throat is dry. 

Christian leaves. He’s gone for about an hour. In that time, no one answers Dean’s email. He falls asleep waiting for a reply. 

In the morning, they find a place to park the SUV. They take only what is essential to catch the demon and keep warm. Dean takes his laptop. They board the plane. They have a 24-hour layover, then they land in Barrow. From there, Christian has secured snowmobiles and another hotel room. They don’t have a return flight. There’s no way to know how long this will take. 

xxx 

Two days and 200 miles later, still no reply to his email. Maybe they think Dean’s working with Christian. Maybe they don’t trust him. 

In the past 24 hours, Christian has said maybe two sentences to Dean. He keeps to himself, hunched over a notebook with a black feather as a bookmark. The closer they get to the demon, the quieter Christian becomes. 

It’s still close. The man who rents them snowmobiles confirms another sighting. It could vanish anytime. The fact that it’s sticking around does not bode well. It probably knows it’s being hunted. It knows Dean. It got a good look at him the last time they met. It might know Christian too. It’s probably eager to kill the people who've been tracking it for the past few decades. 

They leave early in the morning. It’s dark out. The sun won’t rise again for another few months. Someone saw a woman in a nightgown wandering across the tundra about 12 miles south. When the witness tried to approach her, she vanished. 

Dean cranks up his snowmobile. The witness agrees to lead them to the spot where he saw the woman. They ride single-file through the snow. 

The witness waits with them for about an hour, then the wind picks up. He leaves the hunters and warns them not to stay out too long. 

They wait. Christian doesn’t say a damn word. Dean paces to stay warm. Another hour passes. They take turns walking out into the snow to check the horizon for anything unusual. Dean returns from his scouting shift. Christian is straddling his snowmobile. 

Dean’s weapons are scattered in the snow. His supply bag is strapped to the back of Christian’s vehicle. The other hunter cranks his snowmobile to life as Dean approaches. 

“Cas,” shouts Christian. 

Dean freezes to the spot. He fumbles for the gun attached to the outside of his snowsuit. 

“Thought we were a team,” shouts Christian. He’s already got a gun in his hand. He fires a warning shot at Dean, who stops moving. “Thought we had a deal.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” shouts Dean. When in doubt, deny. 

“I read your email. Don’t play dumb with me, boy.” He aims behind him and fires a shot into the engine of Dean’s snowmobile. “Good luck with your demon. I hope that bitch tears you apart.” He clamps down on the gas and speeds away. 

Dean grabs his gun and tries to shoot as the hunter fades into the distance, but it’s dark and his aim is compromised. 

How the fuck did he know? When did he read the email? When did Dean leave his laptop unlocked and unguarded? 

Dean checks his snowmobile. Christian mangled it even before he shot at it. He cut the fucking fuel line. Dean’s stranded. He gathers the weapons he can find; two knives, some acid, and the gun from his suit, and makes his way back to town. 

He never should have left. He should have listened when Bobby told him not to run. This was a colossally stupid idea. He hasn’t been in his right mind since John died. He wasn’t ready for another hunt. Bobby was right. Sam was right. Jess was right. Cas was right. 

Fucking Cas. Thanks to Dean, Christian knows exactly where to find him. He led the psycho straight to Cas’ sanctuary. 

He doesn’t know how long he walks. He only knows he doesn’t see the lights of town on the horizon. The wind picks up again, chilling him to the bone. He can’t stop. If he stops, he dies. 

He hears a soft crunch behind him, and knows what it is before he turns around. 

“Hello, Dean,” says a sweet, familiar voice.

Dean takes off his glove and grips his gun. He can’t afford to fuck up this time. 

“I missed you,” says the voice. 

Dean turns, already poised to fire.

His mother stands not three feet away, feet bare, not sinking like they should, into the snow. After decades, the unearthly glow is the only difference in her appearance. She looks exactly as she did when she tucked Dean into bed the last night she was alive. 

She looks from the end of the gun, back to Dean. “I’m very tired of being followed,” she says. 

Dean’s hand shakes. Now or never. Him or her. He has a choice to make and he’s running out of time. 

“If I kill you,” she says, “is your little friend going to be my next problem?” 

“Mom,” whispers Dean. 

Mary’s face twists into a grin. “No,” she says. 

The demon has no incentive to tell the truth. Mary could still be there. She could be calling out just below the surface. She could be watching everything. Dean can’t pull the trigger. 

“Why us?” he asks. He needs to think of a different plan. “Why did you choose her?” 

The demon must be able to sense that Dean’s will is fading. She moves forward. “I needed a body,” she says. “I found your mommy first.” 

No reason. That can’t be. His family wasn’t slaughtered by chance. It wasn’t random. His grandfather was a hunter. It was vengeance, or a plot, or something, anything but chance. 

The demon is close enough that Dean’s gun is pointing directly into her chest. The light around her burns brighter. 

Him or her.

If he does nothing, she’s going to kill him. He’ll die alone in the dark in the cold. He’ll die and it will all be over. 

Dean lowers his gun. It slips from his fingers and drops into the snow. What’s the point? He’s already warned the others about Christian. Hell, they knew who he was before Dean even told them. He didn’t even help he just made it worse. Cas isn’t at Bobby’s anymore. Dean certainly couldn’t get him to come back. If anybody stands a chance of saving Mary, it’s Sam. 

Him or her. 

Only one of them gets to walk away from this. Why is Dean’s life more valuable than Mary’s? It isn’t. Dean’s done all he can. He’s played his part in the world. No one needs him. If he survives, he’ll just go back to hunting and since meeting Cas, he’s not sure he has the stomach for it anymore. Maybe he’ll just drink his life away. 

He’s going to die one way or another. Mary deserves a second chance. 

Dean sinks to his knees. He takes off his mask and goggles and looks into his mother’s eyes one last time.


	25. No Apologies in War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading all of your sweet comments! You've inspired me to post chapters a few days early. Thank you fellow fandom shippers!
> 
> And thank you for putting up with my plot shenanigans. Writing freeform is a lot like bungee jumping...it's liberating until the line breaks.

Castiel draws blood with the first punch. His knuckles split and he hears Gabriel’s nose crack. He backs away and unclenches his fists. “I’m sorry,” he stammers. 

Gabriel lunches and brings them both crashing to the ground. 

Anna calls to them from the sidelines. “There are no apologies in war,” she shouts. 

Gabriel offers Castiel a hand and they stagger to their feet. “Lucky shot,” he says. He grins as the blood dries on his face. His nose has already healed. 

Castiel looks to his knuckles, wills his grace to the spot, and watches the skin mend before his eyes.

Anna approaches them. “Gabriel is stronger than you,” says Anna. “He will use that to his advantage. You have to fight smart. Grace is your advantage against humans. Wit will have to be your advantage against enochs.” 

Castiel frowns at the term. “Enochs?”

“Angels and demons,” answers Anna. She checks to make sure Castiel healed correctly. “You pushed your grace to speed the process,” she says. “Good.” She returns to the sidelines where Claire is waiting. “Again,” calls Anna. 

Gabriel erupts in a ball of blinding light, then appears not a full foot away from Castiel. He strikes hard, then kicks one leg out from under Castiel so he falls.

“Boo,” shouts Claire. “That’s cheating.”

Gabriel doesn’t break concentration to retort back. Castiel hurries to his feet, but Gabriel strikes him, not with his hand, maybe with his grace? It happens too quickly. Castiel charges back. Gabriel stumbles. Castiel shoots into the sky and prepares to dive. 

Castiel doesn’t have time to heal. He doesn’t need it. He shuts out the pain, focuses on his breathing, then plummets back to the ground. 

Gabriel sees him coming, predicts his next move, and steps to the side. Castiel has just enough time to tuck his wings as he hurtles to the ground. He braces for impact, but it doesn’t come. He’s still airborne. Anna caught him. 

“Nice try,” she says. She sets him back on the ground.

“But?” ask Castiel.

“But Gabriel is faster than you are. You played into one of his strengths. Find a weakness.” 

Castiel sighs. “I’m not sure I understand why I am being trained to fight angel—enochs,” he says. “I do not intend to harm them.” 

“Then it will be super easy for them to kill you,” says Gabriel.

Anna hushes him and her eyes dart to Claire. “Your creation was forbidden,” she whispers, one hand on his arm. “There are some who would kill you for the perceived sins of your parents.” 

Castiel isn’t sure if she’s speaking, or if he’s feeling her words through her grace. Either way, Claire doesn’t seem to hear them. 

“If you are going to become a guardian,” says Anna, “you will need to be able to protect yourself as well as your charges.” 

“We should probably start him out against Balthazar,” says Gabriel. “Then Jophiel, then me, then you.” 

Castiel cocks his head to one side. “But Balthazar is bigger than all of you. Is he not the strongest?” 

Gabriel laughs. “Hell no. Balthazar’s vessel is tall, and generally speaking, the guy is pretty strong, but he was never big on fighting.” 

“You don’t need to pit me against your weakest,” says Castiel. “I am perfectly capable of training against you.” 

“It’s not a slight against you,” says Gabriel. “We’re just stronger. Think of him as level one. You’ll get some wins in, find his weakness, hone your skills and get an ego boost along the way.” He leans closer to Castiel and away from Anna. “Ego is half the battle.” 

Anna winks at Castiel. “Over-confidence is intimidating, but only until your opponent recognizes your bravado for what it is.” 

Castiel tries to hide his smile. Anna is a good teacher.

They spar for the rest of the afternoon. Castiel lands several effective hits, but Gabriel still wins every match. Balthazar and Jophiel have business to tend to in their territory. They will not return until tomorrow.

In the evening, Gabriel makes dinner while Castiel sits with Anna. Claire runs back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. Apparently she is “helping” with dinner.

When Claire leaves the room again, Castiel lowers his voice. 

“Did you know my father?” he asks.

“Yes,” answers Anna. “We fought together.” 

Castiel braces himself for the next question. “Was he a guardian?”

Anna’s hesitation gives here answer away. “No.” 

“So this place was not his territory?” 

“No,” she answers. “This area was unguarded for close to 100 years.”

Castiel’s disappointment must show in his face, because Anna continues 

“The fighting in our world escalated about a century ago,” says Anna. “It was the deadliest period of time I can remember. Most guardians, like me and Gabriel, returned home to help fight.” 

Castiel waits. Did his father fight? Did he run? Did he kill? 

“Carolus fought with us until the demon exodus into this world. He was stationed here to find and destroy as many demons as he could.” A frown ghosts across her face. “I think, at some point, the killing became too much. He stopped fighting. We lost contact with him after that. After decades of silence, we counted him among the fallen.” She hangs her head. “I had no idea he needed help.”

Castiel knows he should offer her comfort, but the words stick in his throat.

“I could have helped him,” says Anna. “I thought he was a coward. I never tried to find him.” Her wings shift behind her. “I could have helped you, too. I became guardian of this area almost ten years ago. I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner.” 

“That’s not your fault,” he says.

Anna sighs and looks up at Castiel. “You remind me so much of him.”

“Of—of my father?”

“Yes. It’s your grace. I knew you were his son as soon as I felt it.” She gives him a faint smile. “And your wings. Just like his.”

Castiel doesn’t get to respond. They both turn toward the sound of little feet rushing into the room. Claire stops in front of him and has to take a moment to catch her breath.

“Dinner is ready,” she says.

“Thank you,” says Castiel. 

Claire holds out and hand and Castiel realizes she intends to escort him to the dining room. 

“Oh,” he says. “Thank you.” 

“You are our guest of honor,” she says. She leads him to the head of the table, then takes a seat beside him.

Anna helps Gabriel bring out plates and dishes.

Claire chatters away through most of the meal. She offers Castiel fighting advice—“Just keep hitting Gab in the face”—and begs to let tomorrow be about grace training so she can participate as well. 

Anna makes no promises, but Castiel suspects Claire will get her way.

He goes to bed early, exhausted by the day and eager for tomorrow’s training. 

xxx 

_Castiel wakes up breathing in dust. He’s lying facedown in the dirt. He coughs and rolls over onto his side._

_The silo door is open and the afternoon sun illuminates his prison. Castiel stands and flexes his wings. He is unrestricted. He leaves. He relishes the soft grass beneath his feet as he crosses the lawn to Anna’s house._

_Gabriel is by his side. Was he always there?_

_“We can’t find Claire,” says Gabriel._

_Bobby runs a hand through his hair, and scowls._

_They are in the living room. They are not alone, but Castiel cannot make out the faces of the other people. Dean is not among them._

_“The hunter took her,” says Gabriel._

_“Dean wouldn’t take her without telling us,” says Bobby._

_“You don’t know what he would do,” says Gabriel._

_“She’s safe if she’s with Dean,” says Castiel._

_“You can’t trust a hunter,” says Gabriel._

_“He wouldn’t just leave,” says Bobby._

_Castiel can still hear them, but he’s not in the room with them anymore. He’s walking back outside. He flies up to the roof._

_Claire is sitting alone, wings fanned out in the sun._

_“We thought you were lost,” says Castiel._

_“I know where I am,” says Claire._

_“You should tell the others. They’re worried.”_

_“I’m waiting,” says Claire._

_“For what?”_

_She shrugs._

_Castiel is pulled away again. He drifts away from the house and into the woods. He doesn’t drift for long, but he knows the house is far away. He’s alone._

_A dark figure watches him from behind a tree._

_The hunter._

_Castiel’s wings snap shut. They’re pressed tight against his back._

_The hunter stalks closer._

_Castiel’s arms are weak at his side. His chest is heavy with a throbbing pain. His knees buckle and he falls._

_The hunter emerges. He kneels beside Castiel. “Stupid half-breed,” he grunts._

_Castiel reaches out to him._

_The hunter takes his hand, entwining their fingers. “You should have stayed at the house, Cas,” he says._

_“Why did you leave?” asks Castiel. He’s too weak to sit up straight. He’s lying in the dirt again._

_Dean runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair and hushes him. “It’s ok,” he says. “You don’t understand.”_

_Castiel tries to reach out again, but he can’t lift his arm. “I think I love you,” he whispers._

_Dean smiles and rests his hand against Castiel’s cheek. “You don’t know any better.”_

_A wave of heat washes over Castiel. His muscles stretch and swell. He sits up and reaches out to Dean again. Instead of touching him, a white light bursts from his palm. It hits the hunter hard and he falls back._

_Dean and Castiel struggle to their feet, eyeing the space between them._

_It’s Dean’s turn to reach out. “I love you too, Cas,” he says._

_The hunter fades and Castiel cannot catch hold of his hand before he disappears. He’s alone again, shouting for his human. The trees begin to glow. A light consumes him. He can’t see._

xxx

Castiel gasps as his consciousness floods back from the dream. The light is on in his room. He sits up, clutching his chest. Anna is standing at the foot of his bed, brow furrowed.

“Who is Dean?” she asks.

Castiel licks his lips and sighs. “A human.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned this human before?” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“Elaborate.” 

Castiel waves his hand before Anna has a chance to compel him with her grace. “He’s a hunter.”

“The one who—” 

“No. He was a friend.” 

“Was?” 

Castiel sighs again. “It’s not important. I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“It is important to me,” says Anna. “You took great care to tell us your story. The fact that you omitted this human is significant.” 

“It’s personal.” 

“Everything you’ve told us is personal.”

“Anna, please.” 

She folds her arms across her chest. “Tell me.”

Castiel runs a hand over his face. He can feel his feathers ruffle. “We were romantically involved. It did not last long. He was—is the doctor’s brother. We left the house at the same time. That’s it.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.” 

“He is the reason you left.” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you lied.”

“No,” says Castiel quickly. “Well, partially. I was angry when I left, but I left with the intention of finding my captor.”

“Why did Dean leave?”

“I don’t know. He was angry as well.”

“You were romantically involved with a hunter and you left him, presumably after a fight?" 

“He left first, but yes,” answers Castiel. “That is it in summary.”

Anna scowls at him. “A hunter.” 

“Yes—well, not anymore—I’m not sure. He was very conflicted.” 

“We will need the full story,” says Anna. “If he comes looking for you, he might find Claire. She is not ready to meet a human, much less a hunter.”

“He will not look for me.” 

“You separated after an unresolved fight, correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“He has no means to contact you, correct?” 

“Correct,” answers Castiel. 

“There is a strong chance he will search for you,” says Anna. 

“Why are you more worried about Dean searching for me than you are about the other hunter searching for me?” asks Castiel. “Dean is not cruel. He is not dangerous.” 

“He is your weakness,” answers Anna. “That means he is also our weakness.” She gestures to the door. “Come. We need to tell the others.”


	26. If I sink

Mary smiles as she leans over him. She flashes straight, white teeth as she begins to sing. Her eyes are soft at the edges. She holds Dean’s head in her hands. Something warm is flowing from his body into hers. He can feel it. She burns brighter the longer she stares at him. 

Dean’s never seen a demon drain energy before. He has no idea how long it takes. Mary will be quick, though. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She’ll keep him safe. 

Dean hears “Hey Jude,” and he’s not sure if he’s humming or she’s singing or if it’s some combination of both. He knows he’s tired. His mom’s hands are warm. He’s not cold anymore. He closes his eyes. 

He hears something loud, like an explosion, in the distance. The noise travels over the tundra to where he is cocooned in memories with his mother. 

He hears the noise again, closer. Warm hands leave his face. He slumps, boneless, into the snow. 

xxx 

_Mary moves cautiously down the stairs. She doesn’t see the little boy following her. He’s supposed to get John. That’s his job. She knows he’ll do it._

_She creeps into the kitchen unarmed. The little boy stays by the stairs. There’s a bang and a scream. The little boy hides his eyes. John rushes past him. There’s a bright light._

_The little boy holds a baby in his arms. Someone screams. He runs._

xxx 

Dean wakes up in a bed, warm, whole, and dizzy. He tests his body by clenching and unclenching his fists. His joints are stiff, but functional. 

“Dean?” Someone rushes to his side. The bed sinks as they sit beside him. 

He feels a hand on his forehead, then two fingers on his wrist.

“Can you hear me?” 

He means to say “yes” but just grumbles instead. He slowly opens his eyes. He recognizes this place. 

“Easy, you’re still weak.” 

Dean means to say “no shit.” He’s not sure if the words come out. His eyes finally focus enough to see the man sitting beside him. “Sammy?” he mutters. 

His little brother grins. “Hey. How are you feeling?” 

Dean frowns. “Shitty,” he answers. He blinks and pushes himself up. 

“Don’t overdo it,” says Sam.

Dean ignores him. Christian’s apartment. They’re in Christian’s apartment. Christian left him. The demon found him. His mother found him. He snaps his attention to Sam. “Mom?” he asks. “Did you see her?”

Sam chews on his bottom lip. “We’ll talk about that later,” he says. “How are you feeling? I’ve only treated a few energy drains. I need to know what hurts.” 

“Did you see mom?” asks Dean. 

“Later,” says Sam. 

“No, now. Did you see her?” 

Sam huffs. “Yes.”

Dean sits up straighter. “Is she all right? Can you fix her? Is she still in there?” 

“Dean, I—she’s—“ Sam’s eyes are glassy. He’s broadcasting the truth before he says it. “I killed her.” 

Dean leans back down. 

“She was going to kill you,” says Sam. 

“What if she was still in there?” murmurs Dean. 

“That wasn’t a chance I was willing to take,” says Sam. 

Him or her. Sam chose him. 

“She was still in there,” whispers Dean. He forces himself to look at Sam. 

His brother breaks. He’s in tears. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t have a choice.” 

Dean clenches his jaw, a dark rage settling in over him. Sam made the wrong fucking call. He should have left Dean. 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Sam says again. He covers his face with his hands. “I had to. I’m so sorry.” 

“What about her body?” 

“It’s—I couldn’t—It’s still out there,” mummers Sam. 

Dean stops himself just short of a tantrum. Sam saved him. Sam saw two people out on the tundra and chose the one he knew was still family. He chose Dean. 

Dean wraps an arm around Sam and lets him cry into his shoulder. John would have hated being saved over Mary. Dean is not John. 

“It’s ok,” he hears himself saying. “You did good. I owe you.” Dean finally lets himself break too. He cries. He clings to Sam as he apologizes while Dean tries to calm him. John would have hated this. John would be angry that Sam shot Mary instead of trying to save her. Maybe John wanted to die. 

The thought shakes Dean and it takes a minute to settle. John wanted to die. John didn’t tell Dean that the demon was wearing Mary’s body because he wanted Dean to hesitate. He wanted Dean to choose. He wanted Dean to choose Mary. 

“I’m sorry,” says Sam again. 

“It’s ok,” repeats Dean. "It's ok. You did good."

xxx

Sam, as it turns out, used the GPS in Dean’s phone to track him to Alaska. He must have been far enough behind that Christian didn’t see him when he was looking for someone following Dean. 

“It was easy to figure out where you guys were heading,” says Sam. He gestures to the maps, printouts and newspapers scattered around the apartment. “I camped out in Barrow for a while, tried to keep an eye out for anybody new in town. You got there faster than I’d anticipated.” 

Dean shakes his head. “How the fuck did you get out there so fast?” 

“Bobby knows a guy with a plane. I met him at the airport here in Fairbanks and he took me straight out to wait for you guys.” 

“How did you find me out there?” 

“Your witness,” says Sam. “It’s a small town. I knew where to look.” He shrugs. “Plus it kinda helped that I’d been stalking the snowmobile rental for the past few days.” He frowns. “Wish I’d gotten there sooner.”

They’re seated at the table in the apartment. Christian hasn’t returned. Earlier, they called Bobby and Jess to let them know he might come sniffing around. They still haven’t heard from Cas. 

Sam insists they stay one more night at the apartment to let Dean rest, doctor’s orders. Dean uses it as an opportunity to collect information on Christian. 

“We should have told you,” says Sam. “Bobby and I weren’t sure how well you knew him.” 

“It’s ok, Sammy.” Dean sifts through a stack of hand-written notes. 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

Dean told him the whole messy story last night. No one responded to the email because they didn’t want to risk leaking information to Christian. 

“I wouldn’t have told me either,” says Dean. 

“It’s not because we don’t trust you,” says Sam. “We just thought, if it was someone you knew—we didn’t want you to feel torn, so we made the decision for you.” 

Dean nods, half listening. Christian’s handwriting is almost impossible to decipher. He’s got pages and pages of notes on angels, demons and other monsters he believes exist but has yet to find.

“And Dean,” says Sam, “I want you to know there’s nothing wrong with you and Castiel being—you know—together.”

Dean looks up from the notes and has to physically bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid. 

“I think I understand why you freaked out, but you didn’t take advantage of Castiel or anything. He likes you.” 

“He doesn’t know any better,” mutters Dean. 

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” says Sam. “You’re diminishing his decisions when you act like you know what is best for him. He’s damaged, yes, but frankly, so are you. I’m not sure either one of you are in any kind of position to know what’s best.” 

Dean opens his mouth, but Sam gives him a stern look. 

“Don’t,” says Sam. “Just shut up and process what I said. You can disagree later, but at least think about it before you throw a fit.”

Dean snorts and returns to the notes. “Fine,” he mutters. 

“I want to add one more thing,” says Sam.

“No one’s stopping you.” 

“It doesn’t matter _why_ he was comfortable talking to you. The fact is he _was_ comfortable, and he talked, and that helped him heal. I don’t know what you did, or why it worked but the point is, you helped him.”

“I guess so.” 

“And he made you happy.” 

Dean doesn’t say anything back to that.

“Bobby said he made you happy. You fixed each other and that’s—”

“All right, Sammy, I get the picture. You can stop with the mushy crap.”

“If you could just think about it, and maybe consider that it was something he wanted too—” 

“I get it,” says Dean. “I’ll think about it. Please, for Christ’s sake, stop talking.” He passes a notebook across the table. “Put that giant brain of yours to good use and help me make sense of this nut-job.” 

They talk almost exclusively about the hunter for the rest of the day. Shortly after 10 p.m. Sam puts his foot down and demands Dean rests if he wants to head back to Sioux Falls in the morning. Dean begins to feel suspiciously sleepy soon after Sam declares bedtime. His baby brother might have dosed him when he wasn’t looking. Dean falls asleep imagining the heavy blanket is a large black wing draped over him. 

Dean sleeps for 12 hours. It’s a new record for his adult life. Sam stays true to his word and they set off shortly after Dean wakes up. The Impala was still where Dean left it; parked outside of Christian’s apartment. Sam drove Bobby’s truck up to Fairbanks. 

Sam actually lets Dean drive and he follows behind the Impala in Bobby’s truck. Every few hours, Sam honks the horn, signaling time for a break. Dean complies. It makes the trip home twice as long, but it keeps Sam happy so Dean doesn’t complain. Sam says Dean can keep driving as long as he stops to rest and lets Dr. Winchester check his vitals. It takes them a full week to complete the 52-hour drive. Dean doesn’t pick a fight the entire time.

They get home on a Saturday around 1 a.m. The lights are on and Bobby and Jess are waiting for them on the porch. Dean’s barely out of the car before his family smothers him. Bobby calls him an idiot. Jess says she’s glad he and Sam are safe.

Dean watches as she embraces Sam and he feels the tiniest sting of jealousy.

Bobby slaps him hard on the back, then drapes an arm over his shoulder. “You’re a real dumbass sometimes,” he says. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” mutters Dean. 

“How do I convince you to stick around?” 

“You could try grounding me again.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Don’t think I’ve ruled that out.” He tugs Dean’s shirt. “C’mon. I’ve got food and a fire going inside.” They return to the house with Sam and Jess in tow.

They gather in the living room. Dean sits close to the fireplace.

“I’m guessing Christian has all of your stuff,” says Jess.

“Most of it,” answers Dean. “Anything I didn’t leave in the Impala is with him.” 

She nods to herself. “Did you have anything about Castiel? Anything that might suggest where he went?” 

“I don’t think so,” answers Dean. “He’s got both of my phones and my laptop, but I didn’t keep anything about Cas on them.” He sinks back into his chair, doing a yet another mental inventory of the things he’s lost. “He’s got my gear. Dad came up with a few gnarly ways to kill monst—angels and demons. I don’t know if he shared that info with Christian, but he damn sure knows now.”

“Anything we need to be worried about?” asks Sam.

“Holy water’s the worst of it,” answers Dean. “Dad sold a few batches, but he kept the best—shit that does the most damage—for us.”

“What else?”

Dean sighs. “Grenades.”

“Where the fuck did Dad get grenades?”

“I don’t know,” answers Dean. “Probably the same place he got sodium thiopental and 50 pounds of lye. He had connections.”

“Did you drag 50 pounds of lye through the arctic?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. We used that up years ago. Still had some sodium thiopental though. Probably not enough to impact something supernatural. It takes a shit ton to get those suckers to talk. We learned that the hard way.” Dean laughs. “Same goes for lye. Especially with angels. First one we tried to dissolve, we ended up with this fleshy feather soup.” 

Dean still remembers the smell. They ended up sealing the container and locking it in a storage unit. John said he went back for it, Dean’s not sure if that’s true. Some day, someone is going to open that unit and find several gallons of failed holy water along with creature soup. 

Dean hears himself laugh again. Whoever owns that place is in for a nasty surprise, if they haven’t uncovered it already. Dean doesn’t have his own storage unit; he always shared John’s. Maybe the creature soup leaked and ate everything else. 

“We went back to slicing them up after that,” says Dean. His chest is tight. “Bobby, your chop shop had nothing on us. We got it down to an art, and we were mobile.” The others are watching him in silence. “We’d layout a monster,” Dean spreads his arms wide to demonstrate, “and go to town. We’d build the pyre in the same spot, then bury the evidence once it was over.” 

Dean rests his head against his fist and stares into the fireplace. “Granted, we had to kill the thing first. God that took forever. Sammy, I’m sure you remember. We got better after you quit, but even our last kill took 30 freaking minutes. That’s not including Mom, of course. We didn’t kill her so it doesn’t count. Though it did take about 30 minutes for that demon to kill Dad.”

“Dean?” says Jess.

“There was this big angel,” continues Dean. “She had these huge wings and they were so white. She was gorgeous. We found her living in fucking Boston of all places. Just hanging out, pretending to be human. She gave herself away though—couldn’t resist the urge to fly. I guess it’s in their DNA or something. Cas was like that too—he had to fly.”

It’s still funny. He’s still laughing. Sam says something. Bobby stands up from the couch. 

“Anyway,” says Dean, “we see her land in this nice quiet park. It’s a new moon. There’s like, one working streetlight. We can’t see for shit. She was in an area with other humans so Dad and I blended right in—she couldn’t sense us. We fired off a couple shots—I aimed for the torso and Dad got her wings. That was standard procedure. We had to inflict a massive amount of damage so the monsters wouldn’t be able to heal as fast. If you could get the clearance for a headshot, that was the best. God there was a lot of blood. There was always so much blood.” 

Something warm and wet trickles down the side of his cheek. He wipes it away. “We dumped like three gallons of water in the grass to get rid of the blood. Found out later I hit an artery in her leg—I’m a crap shot—we had to wrap her up in a tarp and some of those clear plastic paint mats to keep her from bleeding all over the car.” He runs a hand over his face and takes a shaky breath. “I was so fucking glad that job was over. I took a feather. Gave it to Cas though. We burned a whole bunch of stuff—mine and Christian’s.” 

Somebody moves to stand beside him. 

“Trophies,” says Dean. “It wasn’t really our stuff. It was just a bunch of trophies. Christian and I both had trophies. Did you guys know Cas’ dad had black wings too? I don’t know who mounted them, but damn, they did a great job. I’ve never seen wings stuffed like that before. When I first saw Cas laying outside of that cabin, I was going to hack off his wings and hang them up somewhere.”

He can’t shut himself up. He’s tired; maybe that’s the problem. Sam was right. He should have rested more. “You know how much that would have fucked Cas up?” asks Dean. “The only thing keeping him going was the idea he might be able to fly again. Then when he did, shit, he was a new man. He’s got to have his wings. You can’t take wings from an angel.”

Bobby’s kneeling by his chair, his hand is heavy on Dean’s shoulder.

“We always did,” mutters Dean. “Standard procedure. If you see wings, cut them down. We fucked them up.” 

Sammy’s standing in front of him. “Dean?” 

Jess is on the other side of his chair. She’s holding his hand. How long has she been holding his hand? “It’s ok,” she says. 

“Fucked up,” mutters Dean. He’s said too much. He can tell by the look on Sam’s face. He shouldn’t have started talking.

“You’re not like him,” says Jess. She runs a hand through his hair.

Bobby squeezes his shoulder.

Dean tries to laugh again, but it comes out as a strangled sob. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ve been breaking down a lot these days.”

“Don’t be sorry,” says Bobby. “That’s good. You need to talk about this shit. We’ve all done bad. I was in your shoes when Sam said he wanted to stop killing and start saving. I’m not saying forgive yourself—I haven’t even figured out how to do that yet—but you’ve got to stop reliving it.”

Dean looks up at Sam. It’s the faint smile and little glimmer of hope in his little brother’s eyes that makes Dean’s chest relax and his thoughts stop spiraling. Sam holds eye contact until his smile fades. His whole face falls. “I killed mom,” he says softly. 

“You had to,” says Dean.

Jess doesn’t contribute. Violence never touched her life. She stayed above the waves in a sea of horrors and was able to pull Sam up when he drifted across her path. Dean pulled him back down. That can’t happen again. He’s got a family now. If he sinks, they’ll all go down with him.


	27. Found Him

Gabriel joins them in the living room once Claire is asleep again. Apparently Castiel’s nightmare woke the entire house. 

Balthazar and Jophiel are sitting side-by-side, bleary-eyed and impatient. 

Jophiel takes a heavy breath. “For the love of fuck, Anna,” she begins, “how long are you going to keep us in suspense?” 

Gabriel takes a seat beside Castiel. 

“We can begin,” says Anna. She’s standing, eyes locked on Castiel. “We need to be on the lookout for another human—a hunter.” 

“Let me guess,” says Gabriel, he shoots Castiel a look, “Dean.”

“Who is Dean?” asks Balthazar. 

Anna raises her eyebrows expectantly. “Castiel? Care to explain?” 

He sinks lower into his chair. The room is watching him. No secrets, not when he could be putting Claire at risk. He recites his history again, beginning with his first escape attempt from Bobby’s, and this time he includes Dean. He does not tell them how he made Dean promise to kill him if his condition did not improve. Midway through explaining his night in the cabin, Gabriel interrupts. 

“Anna, I don’t think we need to make him tell us all this stuff,” he says. 

“I want to hear more,” says Jophiel. 

“Me too,” says Balthazar. 

“Majority rules,” says Anna. 

“But look at him,” says Gabriel. “He’s all flinchy and pale.” 

“It’s all right,” says Castiel. 

Gabriel glares at the others. “Who’s using grace?” 

“No one,” answers Castiel. “I am speaking on my own free will.” 

“You guys are the worst,” says Gabriel. 

Castiel does his best to accurately explain the relationship. He manages to avoid going into detail about the physical nature of their bond, but Anna demands meticulous analysis of Dean’s emotional state. He doesn’t tell them everything, omitting the more personal aspects of Dean’s past. Castiel finally reaches the end and finishes with the fight. The angels stay silent when he finishes the story. 

Anna is still scowling, but seems lost in thought as she stares him down. Gabriel has his head bowed and his arms crossed over his chest. Jophiel and Balthazar exchange a look that could only be described as guilty. 

Castiel catches Balthazar’s eye and tilts his head to the side. 

Balthazar sighs. “What’s Dean look like?” 

Anna and Gabriel snap out of their trances at the same time. 

“Why?” asks Castiel. 

“It might be relevant,” answers Balthazar. 

It’s quick, but Castiel sees the look Anna and Gabriel exchange. 

“You know him,” says Castiel.

“It depends on what he looks like,” says Balthazar. 

“That’s enough,” snaps Anna. 

Castiel stands. “How do you know him?” 

“Just tell him,” says Jophiel. 

“No,” snaps Anna. 

“Pretty sure it’s too late,” says Gabriel. 

“Anna sent us to find your hunter,” says Jophiel, “the bad one.”

Anna doesn’t object this time. She watches Castiel for a reaction.

“We think we found him,” says Jophiel. “We stole that picture you were carrying around. We tracked this guy up to Alaska. We think it might be your kidnapper.”

“And?” asks Castiel. 

Anna glares at the two angels. “That was supposed to be a secret.” 

“Why?” asks Castiel. “And what does that have to do with Dean?” 

Anna rubs her temples. “It was—sometimes it is necessary to—some people are better off dead.” 

“Damn, Anna,” says Gabriel. “Way to ease him into it.” 

“A man like that is not doing the world any good,” says Anna. 

“Nobody’s arguing with you,” says Gabriel. 

“He’s mine to kill,” says Castiel. 

“We didn’t want you to have to make that decision,” says Anna. “We know you are struggling to find the goodness in yourself. It is easier, and potentially healthier for you, if we take care of him.” 

“No,” says Castiel. “I want to do it.” 

“He’s got a blood grudge,” says Balthazar. “I think we should let him do it.” 

“I second that,” says Gabriel. 

“Third,” says Jophiel. 

“Fine,” mutters Anna. 

“How did you find him?” asks Castiel, “and how does this relate to Dean?” 

“We’ve got connections,” says Jophiel. “And grace helps, too.” Before Anna can protest, Jophiel adds, “we were gentle. Just like you asked.” 

Castiel rubs his forehead. It is just his luck that someone else would find his master before him.

“As for Dean,” says Balthazar, “the hunter we found had a little friend with him.” 

Castiel’s heart skips a beat. “Dean?” 

“I don’t know,” says Balthazar. “Again, that depends on what he looks like.” 

“He’s a few inches taller than I am,” says Castiel. “He has dirty blond hair, bright green eyes and a semi-permanent scowl. I know his age is thirty something, but I cannot remember exactly. He drives a very loud black car which he refers to as ‘a classic.’” 

Balthazar and Jophiel exchange a glance. 

“What?” asks Castiel. 

Jophiel wrinkles her nose. “Well,” she begins. “Someone matching that description is with him. I think they’re hunting together.” 

“Why would—he’s not—what is he doing?” Castiel is babbling to himself. “Take me to him.” 

“You’re not ready,” says Anna. 

Castiel is already on his feet. He can feel his grace burning within him. He reaches out to Balthazar. “Take me to him.” 

Balthazar’s face goes slack for just a second. Castiel feels his grace tug, then snap. He staggers back. 

“Anna’s right,” he says. “You’re not ready.” 

“More importantly,” says Jophiel, “we don’t know why Dean and Christian are hunting together.” 

 _Christian._ Castiel mouths the name, but doesn’t say it out loud. He straightens up to his full height and faces Anna. She is almost his height, but still manages to loom over him. 

“If you will not take me to him,” says Castiel, “I will find him on my own.” 

“Just because your human is with him?” asks Anna. 

“He is a cruel man,” says Castiel. “You don’t know what he is capable of.” 

“And you don’t know why Dean is with him,” says Gabriel. He stands and crosses the room, positioning himself beside Anna.

“Dean most likely intends to kill him,” says Castiel. 

“They looked pretty chummy together,” says Balthazar. 

“Yeah,” agrees Jophiel. “We watched them for a while. It’s just the two of them. Dean’s had plenty of opportunity to kill the bastard, if that’s what he is planning.”

 _Maybe that’s what Dean was trying to tell you._  

Castiel clenches his jaw. The room blurs in and out of focus as he replays his last conversation with Dean. He’s still a hunter. That’s what he was trying to say. He was confessing. Dean’s loyalty to his brother was the only thing that kept him from killing Castiel, and Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain the illusion much longer. He didn’t feel anything. It was all in Castiel’s head. Dean was right. Castiel was delusional. 

 _Stupid monster._  

“You know what,” says Gabriel, disturbing the silence, “fuck it. We’ll all go.” 

“Absolutely not,” says Anna. 

“All in favor, raise your hand,” says Gabriel. 

Anna folds her arms firmly across her chest as hands shoot up around her. 

“Majority rules,” says Gabriel. 

“I’m pulling rank,” says Anna.

Gabriel groans. “Don’t do that.” 

“We can’t leave Claire,” says Anna. 

“You can stay with her,” says Gabriel. He kneels. “Please? I’m literally begging on my knees. It’s been years since I’ve been this curious about something.” 

Anna glares down, unmoved. 

Balthazar and Jophiel are quick to join Gabriel’s pleading. 

“Please?” asks Jophiel. “In the name of vengeance. I want to smite something.” 

“Or justice,” says Balthazar, “whichever you prefer.” 

“They can’t take down three angels and a nephilim,” says Gabriel. “We’re super strong.” 

“That’s what bothers me,” mutters Anna. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Get up, you look ridiculous.” 

“Does that mean we can go?” asks Gabriel. “Did we wear you down?” 

“Two days,” says Anna. “You go, do whatever you need to do, make sure you don’t get caught, then come right back.” 

“Permission to let Castiel kill Christian?” asks Balthazar. 

“And Dean, if he deserves it?” asks Jophiel. 

“Recon only,” says Anna, “and if you’re not back in 48 hours, I’m calling in every favor I have with every angel I know to haul your asses back here.” 

“I call dibs on patrol leader,” says Balthazar.

“Gabriel is in charge,” says Anna. “He is, unfortunately, the most competent among you.” 

“Aw,” says Gabriel. “Thanks Anna.” 

Castiel’s not sure if he’s joking. 

“Ground rules,” says Anna, “since this involves emotional bonds and another human, no killing or fighting. Defend and retreat should conflict arise. Do not leave Castiel alone. Actually, no one gets left alone. You stay together at all times.” 

“Can we expose ourselves?” asks Gabriel. 

“I think we should let Castiel expose himself to Dean,” says Balthazar.

Castiel doesn’t know why that makes them snicker. 

“You can engage _peacefully_ ,” says Anna. “Talking only. No grace, no threats.”

“Good thing you’re not going,” mutters Jophiel. 

Castiel grins. “That was a reference to Anna’s poor interpersonal skills and need for anger management.” 

Everyone but Anna cackles. She has to shout over the laughter. “Do you understand the terms?” 

“Yes,” answers Gabriel. “And we accept. We’ll leave now, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’m ready,” says Castiel.

“Good,” says Anna. “Gabriel’s in charge. Jophiel is his second. Balthazar will guard Castiel. Your 48 hours begin as soon as you leave.” 

xxx 

At Anna’s request, they wake Claire, tell her goodbye and promise to return soon. Claire is predictably reluctant to let them leave and tries to negotiate them down to 24 hours. They promise to come back as soon as possible. 

They leave just before sunrise. The angels transport Castiel somewhere cold and very dark.

“Welcome to Alaska,” says Gabriel. 

Castiel makes a mental note to investigate a world map when he returns. “Where is Christian?” he asks. 

“Heading north, last time we checked,” answers Balthazar. “We might have to pop around a bit before we find him again.” 

“Lead the way,” says Castiel. 

Popping around a bit, as it turns out, is easier said than done. It’s several hours before they pick up Christian’s trail again. Balthazar says it was easier when he and Jophiel were searching because they split up to cover more ground. Gabriel makes them stay together, threatening to tell Anna if they don’t. 

Christian and Dean were heading north on a lonely highway. They stop by every hotel and gas station along they way, usually sending in Jophiel with her wings cloaked, to show Christian’s picture to the person inside. They follow several thin leads to a cold town where the highway ends. 

The others cloak their wings, but are careful to stay masked in the darkness with Castiel. Gabriel says it stays dark for months in this part of the world. It’s a small blessing. It’s easier for them to stay hidden. 

“They’ve got to be here somewhere,” says Jophiel. “This is literally the end of the road.” 

“Unless they went back,” says Balthazar. “Or took a plane. We should check for their car. If they’re still in town, we don’t want to tip them off that we’re asking around about them.” 

It doesn’t take long to find the car. It’s parked in a lot in front of a hotel. They peek inside. Castiel spots a small black feather hanging from a mirror attached to the windshield. Gabriel has to pull him away. 

“They’re still here,” breathes Castiel. He can feel Dean. He doesn’t understand how, but he can feel him. He can feel his master too. A familiar dread snakes through him. 

Gabriel nods to Jophiel. “See if you can figure out which room they’re in.” 

Castiel stares up at the hotel. Dean is inside. Dean is with Christian. They’re on a hunt together. 

 _His mother._  

They have to be hunting for his mother. But Dean said that was family business. It was something he wanted to do alone. Why would he involve Christian unless they were close? Maybe they are not hunting Dean’s mother. Maybe they are hunting something else. 

Jophiel returns and startles Castiel. 

“Found them,” she says. “It’s pretty quiet inside, we should be able to sneak to their room. I brought this.” She tosses a blanket to Castiel. “For your wings.” 

“Yeah,” says Gabriel. “That’s not suspicious at all.” 

Castiel drapes the blanket over his wings. “Which window is theirs?” 

“It’s around the other side,” she says. 

“Show me.” 

Jophiel leads them to the back of the hotel. They’re careful to avoid the streetlights. The wind picks up and the howl covers any sounds they make. Castiel’s skin prickles, but he realizes he’s not cold. His grace kicked in at some point, instinctually keeping him warm. It’s never done that before. 

They locate the hunters’ window. It’s near the ground and they don’t need to fly to peer inside. Castiel steps up first. He’s breathing so hard he’s dizzy. He presses his face to the window. He can see inside through a gap in the curtain. 

Dean is curled up on his side facing the window, asleep. Christian is sleeping in the bed just a few feet away. Dean is not bound. He’s not being restrained. He’s frowning slightly and Castiel recognizes his unrest as a nightmare. 

Each man has a bag. Dean’s laptop is on the floor by his bed. He’s not a hostage. He’s here willingly. Jophiel and Balthazar said they were traveling in the same vehicle. Dean must have seen the feather in the car. Dean must at least be suspicious of Christian. 

 _Unless he’s known all along._  

Castiel doesn’t realize his hands are sparking with grace until Gabriel pulls him away from the window. His stomach lurches. He let himself trust Dean. He told Dean his secrets. He let Dean touch him. 

“You all right?” asks Gabriel. 

Castiel nods. He tries to think of something other than shattering the glass and bursting into the room. His fingertips are burning.

_Inhale. One. Exhale. Inhale. Two. Exhale._

“I need to go home,” says Castiel. 

No one questions him. Each angel places a hand on him and the cold, dark landscape disappears.


	28. Let Him Like You

Dean is on a steady dose of some medication with a name he can’t pronounce. Sam insists he take it and has zero sympathy when Dean whines about it tasting like chalk. 

At least he’s not stuck inside anymore. The four of them are hunting. It feels good to have Sam riding shotgun in the Impala again. Bobby and Jess are following behind them in the truck.

Bobby got a call yesterday. A hunter near Seattle wanted to know if he had any information on an angel in a male vessel; Caucasian, lean build, dark hair, blue eyes, about six feet with large black wings. The hunter said he and several others encountered the angel a few weeks ago. He said the angel was manic and searching for information on another hunter. Bobby sent the guy toward Colorado on a false lead. 

That was all the information they had in terms of locating Cas, but it had at least confirmed their suspicions that he was in Washington hunting Christian. They’d left the next morning, encouraged by the report. 

Sam keeps trying to convince Dean that it’s not his fault Cas ran away, but that’s a load of crap. It’s absolutely Dean’s fault. If he’d kept his stupid mouth shut until Sam and Jess got back, none of this would have happened. Hell, if he’d kept his fucking hands to himself all along, none of this would have happened. 

Dean doesn’t care who they find first. If it’s Cas, he’ll apologize, beg, plead, bribe; whatever it takes to get him to come back so they can keep him safe. If they find Christian first, Dean’s not going to hesitate this time. He’s going to shoot the son of a bitch in the head and call it a god damn day. 

Sam’s phone rings and he answers it. “Hey Jess,” he says. “Need us to pull over?” 

Dean can hear her muffled voice on the other end of the call, but can’t make out what she’s saying.

“Condolences for what?” asks Sam. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He glances at Dean, mouth parted as if he’s about to start shouting. “What did Bobby say?”

“What’s going on?” asks Dean.

Sam holds up a hand. “That’s probably the best way to play it—yeah—yeah I’ll tell him.” He hangs up the phone. “Bobby just got a call from a friend of his. He called to offer his condolences because he heard you were dead.”

“That mother fucker,” hisses Dean. 

“Christian?” 

“Yeah Christian,” snaps Dean. “Who the fuck else would it be?”

“Just checking,” says Sam.

“What the hell is he playing at?” mutters Dean. 

“He probably really thinks you’re dead.”

“Or he’s making sure I’m dead. If he spreads the word and someone’s seen me alive, he’s assuming they’ll correct him.” Dean grips the steering wheel a little harder than necessary.

“Jess said Bobby played along, so we’re covered there.”

“Or he’s just trying to fuck with us,” says Dean. “I don’t like that they called Bobby.” 

“Jess said it was an old friend who called, Rufus?” 

“Yeah, but who told Rufus? Was it Christian? Shit. We need to know how much that fucker knows.” 

“I’m sure he’s just fishing for information,” says Sam. 

“Or he’s plotting.” 

“Plotting what?”

“I don’t know, but he was a friend of Dad’s,” says Dean. “That should tell you all you need to know about him. He’s nuts, and he knows what you do and didn’t hesitate to talk shit about you to me.” 

“So?” asks Sam. “A lot of people talk shit about me.”

“Dad told him stuff,” says Dean. “He knows what you do. He probably knows you’re close to Bobby. He might have figured out that Bobby’s in on your whole rescue program too. What if he spreads the word?” 

“Then we’ll lose the small advantage we had,” says Sam. “No big deal. We’re used to setbacks.”

“What if the hunters are pissed? What if Christian has friends?” 

“Dude, you’re spiraling,” says Sam. “Let’s focus on one thing at a time.”

“He’s got to die, Sammy.” Dean glares at the road. “We can take out one psycho, but we can’t fight the whole hunting community.” 

“One thing at a time,” repeats Sam. “If what you’re saying is true, we’ll figure it out later. There’s no point worrying about it now. Let’s just focus on finding Cas. For now” 

“I can’t believe that asshole waited so long to report a sighting to Bobby.”

“Dean.” 

“Cas is probably already dead. If he was running around flashing his wings all over Seattle—of all fucking places—somebody probably already took him out. Maybe Christian already found him. We’re probably too late.” 

“Dean, we talked about this.” 

“I should have minded my own fucking business.” 

“If you don’t calm down, I’m going to make you ride with Jess,” says Sam. 

Dean chews on his bottom lip. “Don’t be such a bitch, Sammy.” 

“Then quit being a jerk.”

Dean continues to glare at the road. The Impala is too damn slow and there’s too much traffic. It’s too hot and his chest is too tight. 

 _Start with what you know._  

Christian found out about Cas somewhere between Prudhoe Bay and Barrow, at least that’s what he claimed. He must have been a close friend of John’s otherwise he wouldn’t know about Mary and wouldn’t have been willing to help Dean find her. 

John must have thought he was crazy, otherwise he would have told Dean more about him. Christian is most likely insane. 

He made it back alive from the arctic because how else would the rumor spread about Dean’s death? The fact that he didn’t return to Fairbanks isn’t a good sign. It means he’s suspicious, paranoid or he knew Sam and Dean were staying there. 

“Slow down,” says Sam. 

“What?” grunts Dean. 

“You’re pushing 100. Slow down. Bobby can’t keep up.” 

Dean eases off the gas and checks behind him. Bobby and Jess are trying to catch up. 

The sighting could be bait. This whole thing could be a trap. They’ll reach Seattle tomorrow. That gives Christian plenty of time to prepare.

xxx 

Dean tries to convince them to drive through the night and arrive early. Bobby puts his foot down outside of Butte and makes them stop for the night. Dean and Bobby share a room and Sam and Jess share a room. 

Bobby hits the bed as soon as they bring their bags in. Dean sets up Bobby’s computer at the table and stars looking for anything that might point to Cas. He’s got about 15 tabs open and not a single lead. 

Bobby grumbles something from the bed. A few moments later he sits down beside Dean and puts a bottle on the table between them. He pours Dean a glass of scotch and sets it loudly in the space between Dean and the laptop.

“Drink that,” says Bobby. “Calm the hell down, give your brain a rest and go the fuck to sleep.” 

“Thought I had to detox,” says Dean, pushing the glass away. 

“I thought so too,” says Bobby, “but I didn’t know this was the alternative.” 

Dean grunts and opens a new tab. Someone spotted a “large bird-like creature” flying over Olympia weeks ago. It made the news. Christian couldn’t fake that. Not unless he’s got connections. That’s not impossible. John made connections everywhere he went, then again John wasn’t a complete lunatic. 

Bobby trades the glass for two pills and a bottle of water. “Sam said I’m in charge of making you take your meds.” 

Dean pops the pills in his mouth, then immediately spits them out. “What’s this?” He holds up the second pill. 

“Ambien,” says Bobby. 

Dean pops his usual chalk-tasting pill and swallows it. He pushes the Ambien off to the side. 

“If you don’t sleep,” says Bobby, “you can’t drive tomorrow.” 

“One more hour,” mutters Dean. 

“Boy, you can go to bed now or I can call in your brother and we’ll hold you down and inject you with horse tranquilizer and make you go to bed.”

He says something else, but Dean ignores him. Bobby threatens him again over the next few minutes, but doesn’t actually follow through. Dean knew he wouldn’t. At some point, Bobby gives up and goes to sleep. Dean keeps searching until the sun peeks through the curtains. He hasn’t made any progress. There are no recent sightings. Everything even remotely related to angel activity is weeks old. They’re just going to drive around the Pacific Northwest following a trail of vague sightings until they either give up or walk into Christian’s trap. Either way, they don’t stand a chance of finding Cas. 

Bobby is milling around the room. He finishes his coffee then takes his bag to the car. Dean didn’t even bother bringing anything in. He stares at the screen until Bobby shouts that they’re ready to get back on the road. 

Dean shuts the laptop, tucks in under his arm and heads outside. He stops in front of his car. Sam is behind the wheel and Bobby is beside him. Jess is in the driver’s seat of the truck. She beckons him over. 

Sam pulls out of the parking space while Dean is still banging on the window. He almost throws the laptop on the ground in his frustration. Instead, he gets into the truck with Jess. 

“One hour,” he says, “then I drive.” 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” says Jess. 

Dean tucks the laptop behind his seat and sits with his arms firmly crossed. 

“Bobby said you didn’t sleep last night,” says Jess. 

“I went to sleep after he did and woke up before he did,” says Dean. 

“Sure you did,” says Jess. 

“Are you going to drive this slow the whole way?” asks Dean. 

“I’m not going to go faster than Sam, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Just saying, we could shave an hour off of the drive time if you’d speed up.” 

“We have plenty of time.” 

Dean leans back and presses against the headrest. 

“Sam says you’re worried Christian might be planning something.” 

“Did you guys have a meeting or something this morning?” snaps Dean. 

“You get angrier the closer we get to finding Castiel,” says Jess. “Why is that?” 

“Not gonna turn this into a session, Jess.” 

“Is it because you’re worried he’s dead and it’s your fault?” 

Dean has to literally bite his tongue. 

“Why did you tell him he had Stockholm syndrome?” 

“Jess,” warns Dean. 

“Where you trying to push him away?” 

“If I sleep will you leave me alone?”

Jess actually laughs at him. “The last patient I had to negotiate like this with was Castiel.” 

“Lot of good that did,” mutters Dean. 

“You’re right,” says Jess. “He was only willing to talk to you.” 

Dean chews his lip again. Cas trusted him more than he ever deserved to be trusted. 

“Do you think he felt like he could relate to you?”

“I was just familiar,” mutters Dean. 

“Because you were a hunter?” 

“Am a hunter, and yes.” 

“You don’t think it was just because you, as a person, made him feel safe?” 

“I promised to kill him if he hadn’t healed in two weeks.” 

“Tell me about that,” says Jess. 

Dean glances over at her. She’s trying to hide it, but he can tell she’s surprised. He smirks feeling a weird sense of victory at having shaken her. “He asked me to kill him. I knew that would piss Sam off, so I told him to think about it for two weeks. If he still wanted to die, I’d pull the trigger.” 

“What did you think might change in two weeks?” 

“It gave him time to heal,” answers Dean, “and gave me time to come up with a plan.” 

“Obviously you didn’t kill him. Did he still want to die?” 

“No. Once his wings healed he changed.” 

“Bobby said you let him ride in the truck to practice flying.” 

“Yeah,” mutters Dean. He resumes scowling at the road. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Did it make him happy?” 

“Seemed to.” 

“Did you know it would make him happy.” 

“He’s an angel. Angels like flying. It’s not rocket science.” 

“Did you think making him happy would make him want to live?” 

“Happy people typically don’t have a death wish. Then again, I’m no expert.”

“Why did you care if he wanted to live?” 

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t want to kill him. Meant a lot to Sam to keep him alive and Sam means a lot to me.” 

“You could have just refused to kill him,” says Jess. “You didn’t have to try to change his mind.” 

“He would’ve just tried to hurt himself.” 

“You could have told Bobby. You two could have made sure he couldn’t kill himself. You didn’t have to keep his secret.” 

“Yeah,” mutters Dean. 

“But you did.” 

“So?” 

“Why?” asks Jess. 

“I don’t know.” He focuses on the bumper of the Impala cruising along ahead of them. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.” 

“So you respected him.” 

“I guess.” 

“Have you considered,” begins Jess, “that he liked you because you are kind and because you understand him?” 

“Cas grew up in a goddamn grain silo with a psychopath,” says Dean. “He’s not a great judge of character.” 

“You’re projecting your own self-hatred,” says Jess. “That’s not fair to him. When we find him, let him like you.” 

“If we find him.” 

“When we find him. I’ll make sure he’s not emotionally or mentally compromised,” says Jess. “I’ll make sure he’s healthy and safe and making the right choices for the right reasons. Your job is to let him like you. Can you do that?” 

“I guarantee he doesn’t like me anymore,” says Dean.

“If he does,” says Jess, “don’t question it. Leave that to me.”

Dean’s chest is too tight again. “You’ll make sure he’s ok—that I don’t hurt him?” 

“Yes.”

Dean sighs. “All right.” Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jess smiling to herself. He’s not sure what he just agreed to, but at least he can count on her for backup. He probably should have talked to her a long time ago. Sam’s going to be so smug when he finds out.


	29. Say My Name

Every day Anna asks about Dean and every day Castiel says it doesn’t bother him; Dean’s human, he’s not surprised. 

Every day Castiel spars with the other angels and every day he improves. 

Every day he becomes faster, stronger, more like the others. 

Every night he sees Dean sleeping in that room with the hunter. 

Castiel steps outside, wings flexed and ready, grace sparking at his fingertips. Anna stands across from him. Her eyes are closed. She’s listening, waiting for him to move first. 

He’d out-matched Balthazar quickly. It was easy. Balthazar never paid enough attention to the fight. Jophiel took longer, but eventually Castiel realized she didn’t have his stamina. He was able to consistently tire her out and win the match. 

Gabriel was much harder. He’d taken it easy against Castiel before, but when he unleashed his full power, Castiel was certain he’d never be able to defeat him. They could spar for hours without Gabriel breaking a sweat. Anna had said confidence was his weakness, but as far as Castiel could tell, Gabriel had every right to be confident. He seemed unstoppable.

The day he progressed, he went in expecting to lose again. He flew high in retreat. Gabriel surged forward and grabbed one of Castiel’s wings, rerouting them both to the ground. Castiel snapped. He lunged and was met with a barrage of attacks, but with his grace and his mind on autopilot, he did not think to fall back. 

Anna had to intervene. Gabriel and Castiel landed, soaked in sweat and blood with their grace struggling to mend their injuries. Anna healed them both. Gabriel shook his hand. 

That night, Gabriel had told him to pay attention to his triggers and use them in their next fight. He did and he won. The angels agreed it was time for him to face Anna. 

“Your strength is her weakness,” shouts Gabriel. He and the others are gathered together to watch. Claire is peeking through her fingers.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” says Balthazar. 

“This feels kind of unfair,” says Jophiel. 

“He can handle himself,” says Gabriel. 

“I take it back,” says Jophiel. “He’s not ready.”

Castiel tries to ignore them. He needs Anna to move. As soon as he feels that first swell of pain, he can tune out the world and let his body go. When Gabriel grabbed his wing, his mind went back to the silo. Pain didn’t register. Thanks to his training, his grace took over. He’s been able to use that to his advantage in every match since. He hopes it will have the same effect against Anna.

Across from him, there is a soft “pop” and Anna is gone. She reappears right in front of him, then pops away again. He can hear her wings as she circles him, but he can’t actually see her. 

Gabriel is shouting from the sidelines. “Boo Anna! Knock her out Castiel!” 

Suddenly, she appears again directly in front of him. Castiel is too stunned to remember he’s supposed to strike. Anna touches two fingers to his forehead and that’s the last thing he sees. 

When he comes around again, Gabriel is the one with a hand on his forehead.

“You can’t get distracted,” says Anna. 

“I wasn’t,” mutters Castiel. He sits up, expecting to be dizzy, but he’s surprisingly all right. 

“You have an advantage fighting the others,” she says. “You see the same strategy every day. You know how what to expect the next day. In a real battle, you will not have that advantage. Consider yourself lucky.”

“If it’s any consolation,” says Gabriel, “Anna used the same tender, gentle method when she trained me.” 

“This method is not—oh,” says Castiel, “you are using sarcasm.” 

Gabriel slaps him on the back, laughing. “Back on your feet. Really focus on kicking Anna’s ass this time.” 

Claire gasps. “Gabriel said a bad word.” 

Gabriel mutters something that sounds like another obscenity. 

Anna shoots him a warning look, then helps Castiel to his feet. “Another round?” 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. 

Anna speeds around again, disorienting him. For her last trick, she appears behind him and wraps her arms around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He struggles and she holds him tighter. It becomes difficult to breathe. He blacks out again. 

It takes several days before Castiel even manages to land a punch. 

xxx

Castiel is demoted to fighting Gabriel again until he wins more reliably against him. Unfortunately, as he grows stronger, so does his opponent. Gabriel wins the matches they do not tie. 

Instead of combat, Anna teaches him to use his grace. She trains him and Claire together. Before their morning lesson, Anna asks again about Dean. 

“It does not bother me,” says Castiel. 

After their lesson and before his sparring match, Gabriel asks about Dean. Castiel gives the same answer. 

Gabriel nods to himself. “I need you to be honest,” he says. 

“I assure you,” says Castiel. “It does not bother me.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“I’m not surprised, but I’m also not going to dwell on it.” 

“What’s going to happen when we go hunting for Christian—” 

“When _I_ go hunting for Christian.” 

“What are you going to do if Dean’s with him?” 

“Kill Christian,” answers Castiel. “Dean’s presence makes no difference.” 

“Are you willing to kill Dean too?” 

The thought had not occurred to him before. He avoids Gabriel’s inquisitive stare. “Have you found them? Is that why you’re asking?” 

“Balthazar tracked Christian to South Dakota,” answers Gabriel.

Castiel snaps his attention to the other angel. “Bobby lives in South Dakota.” He’d heard one of them say the name of the city before. What was it? 

“Bobby might be working with him too.” 

“He’s not,” says Castiel. 

“You can’t know that for sure,” says Gabriel.

“Dean was the only hunter,” says Castiel. “Is he with Christian? Where is Balthazar?” 

“Hang on,” says Gabriel. He grabs Castiel’s arm before he has a chance to search for Balthazar. 

“Why?” 

“It’s—fuck—ok, Anna said not to tell you yet, but I think you need to know.” Gabriel rubs the back of his neck. “Balthazar played human and tracked and questioned a few hunters in order to find Christian.” 

“And?” asks Castiel.

“And he asked about Dean.” Gabriel winces and bites his lip.

“Get to the point.” 

“He got mixed answers, so maybe it’s not true, but a couple of them said Dean died back in Alaska.” 

Castiel’s vision blurs. He’s aware of Gabriel, but only in the sense that he’s aware the sky is blue when he's staring at the grass. 

“I’m sorry,” says Gabriel. “I should have told you sooner. We wanted to confirm it first—well, everyone else did—I thought you should be in the loop. Maybe that was the wrong call.” 

Castiel might be staring at him. He’s not sure. 

“Say something, Cas. Are you all right?” 

Gabriel becomes clear again. “My nickname,” says Castiel. 

“Sorry, _Castiel,”_ says Gabriel.

“Cas,” he says. At least he thinks he says it. “How long?” 

“How long what?” 

“How long have you known. Did you search for a body? Do you have any idea when he died?” 

“We’re not sure. Balthazar said the guys he talked to heard it second hand. He and I went to Alaska to see if we could find—find evidence, but we didn’t have much luck.” 

“So his body is still out there?” 

“He might not even be dead,” says Gabriel. “We’re not sure.” 

“Christian killed him.” He needs to talk to Bobby. He needs to know more. 

“Or whatever they were hunting killed him,” says Gabriel, “or maybe he’s still alive. The point is we don’t have proof one way or another. I just really thought you should—what are you doing?” 

Castiel spreads his wings and launches himself into the sky. Gabriel is close behind him. 

“Cas, wait,” calls Gabriel.

Castiel hears a muffled curse. Gabriel tries to grab for him, but Castiel kicks him away. He pushes himself to fly faster. Suddenly, the wind gushes forward and the breath is knocked out of him. He realizes he’s much farther than he was a moment ago. He’s beyond the island and the sea and is already flying over the mainland. Emboldened, he pushes himself again and this time he is aware of his grace responding. He covers another large amount of distance. Gabriel isn’t behind him anymore. 

 _Sioux Falls._  

That’s the name of Bobby’s town. Now Castiel just has to find it. 

xxx 

He risks landing several times along the interstate once the sun sets. It takes him a while to find Seattle, but once he does, he knows where he’s going. 

He retraces his flight path back to Bobby Singer’s home. It’s a much faster trip this time. He spots the property as he flies lower. He braces for a hasty landing, but something grabs his ankle and immobilizes him. He dangles above the trees, supported by a firm grip. 

“Idiot,” says Anna. 

Castiel cranes his neck to see her and Gabriel hovering above him. To his surprise, they do not force him back to the island. The three land among the trees and Anna releases Castiel. 

“What the hell was your plan?” asks Gabriel. 

“That was reckless,” says Anna. “Do you know how worried we were?” 

“How did you find—” begins Castiel

“You are predictable,” says Anna. 

Castiel begins to defend himself, but something familiar catches his attention. He’s pulled to the house. “Hunter,” he breathes.

“Oh shit,” mutters Gabriel. “Here we go.” 

“I warned you,” hisses Anna. “You shouldn’t have told him anything.” 

Castiel hushes them. He creeps from the tree line to get a better view of the house. All of the lights are on, but there is only one unfamiliar car in the driveway. The hunter is alone inside. 

“Wait here,” whispers Castiel.

“No—“ begins Anna. 

“I promise I will call for you if I need help,” says Castiel. “I need to try to do this alone. Please.” 

Gabriel nods and holds Anna’s arm. Both seem reluctant to let him go, but they don’t follow him. 

Castiel slinks forward, up the driveway and to the front porch. He can hear movement inside. Glass smashes against the floor and something heavy falls. There is a recognizable scent in the air. 

The pyre. He smelled the same thing the night he and Dean burned the trophies. That’s all the motivation he needs. His hands are burning with grace and the heat quickly spreads through his body. He holds up one hand and the door splinters into hundreds of tiny pieces.

The hunter is standing in the middle of the room, a can of gasoline in his hands. He drops it and reaches behind him for a weapon. 

Castiel lunges as the hunter retrieves his gun. He manages to shoot off one bullet. It lodges in Castiel’s shoulder. It doesn’t even hurt. 

Castiel has him by the wrist. He snaps the bones and the gun falls to the floor. He grabs the hunter’s other hand and crushes in within his own. 

The hunter screams. 

Castiel grabs him by the throat and lifts him off of the ground. “This is easier than I’d anticipated,” says Castiel.

All those years. He believed he was powerless for so long. He imagined this fight over and over again and each time, the hunter beat him to within inches of his life. He imagined it would take every last bit of his strength to defeat him. 

He’d become so much more than a monster in a cage. 

He lowers the hunter to the ground, hand still firmly gripping his neck. “Did you kill anyone in this house?” asks Castiel. 

The hunter smirks and Castiel tightens his grip, allowing his grace to flow into the human. 

“Answer me,” growls Castiel. 

The hunter shakes his head.

"Where is Bobby?"

"I don't know. The house was empty when I got here." 

“Did you kill Dean Winchester?” 

“The demon killed him,” croaks the hunter. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

The hunter nods. 

“Say my name.” 

“Cas—Castiel.”

“Good.” Castiel positions both of his hands on either side of the hunter’s face. “This is finished,” he says. With that, he twists hard. He hears the harsh crack of bone on bone and he releases the hunter. He lets him fall to the floor, then kneels beside him. He clutches a fistful of hair at the back of the hunter’s head and yanks. 

He leaves the body, recovers some twine from Bobby’s room, and ties it around the lock of hair. Once his trophy is secure, he tucks it into his pocket and returns to the body. 

He grabs one of the hunter’s ankles and drags the body back through the house to where Gabriel and Anna are waiting outside. 

xxx

Castiel returns to the ashen remains of his old prison alone. At his request, Anna and Gabriel stay behind to make sure no one else tries to invade Bobby’s property. 

He builds the pyre by himself and sets the hunter’s body on top of the wood. He uses his grace to manipulate the fire’s energy to make it burn hotter. The body is gone by morning. He doesn’t bother burying the evidence.


	30. The Truth

Dean is hunched over Bobby’s laptop. There are no sightings and none of the hunters in the area have seen Castiel again. 

He scrolls through Bobby’s email. Bobby gave up manning it when Dean refused to surrender the laptop. They aren’t letting him drive anymore. Bobby says he goes too fast. That’s fine with Dean. He’s been collecting newspapers from every town they visit. He combs through them when they’re in the car. 

Bobby has several new messages. Most of them are from hunters asking for help on a case or replying back saying they haven’t seen a blue-eyed angel with black wings. 

Another email comes through. It’s from Bobby’s main account to Bobby’s hunting account. Dean opens it. 

…

_Hello Bobby,_

_I am writing to you from your account, as I do not have an email address of my own. I am currently in your home in Sioux Falls. I am using one of your computers. I hope you do not mind. We were not able to find your phone number._

_I have some unpleasant news. The hunter who held me captive, Christian, broke into your home. He destroyed some of your belongings. I am here with two friends and we have cleaned up most of the mess._

_I need to speak with you. It is a matter of some urgency._

_Castiel_

… 

“Bobby,” shouts Dean. 

Bobby jerks awake and struggles with his blanket. “What?” 

“Cas.” Dean points at the screen. 

Bobby hurries over and leans in to read the email. “Well I’ll be damned,” mutters Bobby. “Write him back and tell him to answer the house phone when it rings.” 

Dean shoots off a reply.

…

_Calling you now. Answer the house phone._

… 

Bobby puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the table. It’s ringing. There’s a click as someone answers it. 

“Bobby Singer’s house, Gabriel speaking.” 

There’s a muffled thump, then another voice speaks. 

“Bobby? This is Castiel. Apologies for invading your privacy. Where are you? Are you well?” 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. “God, it’s good to hear from you. We’re out in Washington trying to track you down.” 

Dean grabs Bobby’s arm and whispers. “Don’t mention me.” Cas left because of Dean. He might leave again. 

Bobby gives him a look, but agrees. “Are you safe?” he asks. 

“Yes,” answers Cas. “Christian is dead and your home is mostly restored. I am here with two angels.” A pause. “We are still not sure how to remove the gasoline from the carpet.” 

“Christian is dead?” asks Bobby. 

“Yes,” answers Cas. “I killed him. It was over quickly. Are the others safe?” 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. “We’re all fine. Sam and Jess are with me. We’re just worried about you.” 

“And Dean?” 

Dean grabs Bobby’s arm before he can answer. “If he knows I’m coming back he might leave,” whispers Dean. 

“He’s safe too,” says Bobby. 

“You’ve seen him?” asks Cas. 

“Uh,” answers Bobby. 

Dean shakes his head. 

“He checked in with us not too long ago,” answers Bobby. He shrugs. 

“But you have not seen him?”

“Why do you want to know if we’ve seen him?” asks Bobby. 

“Never mind,” answers Cas. “When will you return?” 

Dean hits Bobby in the arm. “Now,” he hisses. “Tell him we’re heading back right now.” 

Bobby rolls his eyes. “We’ll head back as soon as I wake up Sam and Jess,” he says. 

“Good,” says Cas. “Would you like us to stay here and guard your home?” 

“Don’t let him leave,” hisses Dean. 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. “That would be great. Thanks.” 

“It is a two-day journey, correct?” asks Cas. 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. 

“21 hours,” whispers Dean. 

Bobby hushes him. 

“All right,” says Castiel. “I will look for you in a few days.” 

Dean has an idea at the last minute. “As him what I wrote to him in Enochian that first day,” he whispers. “Make sure it’s really Cas.” 

Bobby nods. “Hey Cas, what did Dean write in Enochian after we brought you back to the house?” 

“’What is your name?’” answers Cas. 

“That’s right,” whispers Dean. 

“Ok,” says Bobby. “Thanks. Just needed to make sure you’re really you.” 

“I am me,” says Cas. 

Dean can almost hear him frowning through the phone. 

“See you soon, Cas,” says Bobby. 

“Preferably, yes,” says Cas. 

Bobby chuckles. “I’m gonna end the call now. Bye Cas.” 

“Good bye.” 

Bobby hangs up the phone. 

Dean double-checks to make sure the call is actually over before he speaks. “Cas is ok,” he says. 

“And my house is full of angels,” says Bobby. 

Dean relaxes back into his chair. He’s grinning like an idiot, he knows because his cheeks hurt. 

“You should have let me tell him you’re coming back too,” says Bobby. 

“He might not want to see me,” says Dean. “Better to surprise him.” 

“I don’t agree, but if this is how you want to play it, I’ll follow your lead.” 

Cas is back. Cas met other angels. Cas will be waiting when they get home. Cas is safe. 

“If we leave now and drive straight through the night we can get there by tomorrow night,” says Dean. “I’m gonna tell Sam.” He shoves his chair back and heads to the door before Bobby can stop him. 

xxx 

They leave that night because Dean begs, but they do not make the trip in one shot. Dean agrees to not bitch about stopping if Bobby will let him drive the rest of the way home. Bobby agrees and adds that Dean has to sleep.

Dean manages to quiet his brain long enough to rest for a few hours. He still wakes up before everyone else. It’s late in the evening. He negotiates until the others agree to leave at midnight. Dean wants to leave right away, but the adrenalin rush seems to be isolated to just him. Everyone else is exhausted. 

Dean spends the rest of the evening trying to figure out what he’s going to say to Cas. 

When midnight comes, he rallies the troops and shoves them back to the cars. He and Sam take the Impala again. Dean speeds the whole way home. 

He timed it perfectly. They reach the house just before noon. He can see the angels. Three are standing in the front lawn. One has massive black wings. He parks the Impala in front of them.

He makes eye contact with Cas through the windshield. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t take off, so Dean considers it a small victory. He’s practiced his apology the whole way home. He knows how to make this right. He scrambles out of the car and approaches Cas. 

The male angel standing at Cas’ side steps forward and without warning, socks Dean hard in the jaw. 

“Son of a bitch,” shouts Dean. 

“Gabriel,” shouts the female angel. 

Cas touches his fingers to Dean’s jaw. They burn for just a second, then the pain is gone.

“I thought you were dead,” says Cas. 

“I thought you were dead, too,” says Dean.

Car doors slam behind him and his family is suddenly at his side. 

“What the hell was that for?” demands Sam. He’s glaring at Gabriel. 

“Man, you’re tall,” says Gabriel. 

“Why did you hit him?” 

“Because he deserved it,” answers Gabriel. “Ask him why he was hunting with Christian."

Dean’s still staring at Cas. “How did you know about that?” 

“We—they were tracking him,” answers Castiel. “We saw you together in Alaska.” 

“He found my mom,” says Dean. “The demon had been feeding. She was really strong. I just needed him to take me to her. I didn’t know who he was until we were already heading to her.” 

Cas is scowling with his head tilted slightly to the side. He’s listening but Dean has no idea if he believes him. Does Cas think Dean knew? How long has he thought that? 

“I’m sorry,” says Dean. “I should have shot him on sight. I was being stupid. I thought I could use him as bait or a distraction for the demon, you know? Kill two birds with one stone.” 

“You said you wanted to face the demon alone,” says Cas. 

“I—shit—yeah I did say that. Cas, I’m sorry. I should have shot him. I knew better. I wasn’t thinking straight. I—I was—I don’t know. I was fucked up. I’m always fucked up. I’m sorry, Cas.” 

Without fail, his practiced apology falls to pieces and he’s babbling like an idiot. 

“Please believe me,” he says. “You can’t think that I would—He was a monster—I’m not—I wouldn’t—I’m sorry.” 

Cas reaches out for him again and cups his cheek. His palm is hot and Dean feels that same burn from before. Grace. 

“How long have you known Christian?” asks Cas. 

Dean feels a pull in his chest and the words are out before he can think. “Since I was a kid.” 

“You hunted with him?” 

“Once or twice,” answers Dean. “He was a friend of Dad’s.” 

“Did you know he was the one who captured me?” 

“No, I swear to God, I didn’t know until I was already in the car with him.”

Another hand touches his shoulder. He’s vaguely aware that the female angle has approached. Her hand does the same weird burning thing as Cas’. Sam shouts. Gabriel shouts. The others start arguing. Dean keeps staring at Cas. 

“Why were you with him?” asks Cas. 

“He called Dad’s phone to tell him he’d found the demon.” 

“Why did you let him help you hunt?” 

“Desperate,” answers Dean. His hands are shaking. “I was so desperate.” 

“How did you find out he owned me?” 

“He had one of your feathers,” answers Dean. His voice cracks. “It was black. They’re so rare. I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was yours. It was small, Cas.” His voice cracks again. “Looked like he took it when your wings were still growing.” He’s crying again. He’s cried more in the past month and a half than he’s ever cried in his entire life. Fuck it. Humiliating or not, Cas needs answers and he needs to know they’re true. 

“What was your plan?” 

“I was going to use him to distract the demon,” says Dean. “I was going to let him fight it while I figured out how to restrain it.” 

“And?” 

“And then I was going to kill him, if the demon didn’t, and bring Mom back to see if Sammy could save her.” 

“What happened?” 

“He found out I knew about you,” answers Dean. “I emailed Sam and Bobby to tell them I found him. He saw the email. I don’t know how. I was probably a dumbass and left my computer open. He waited until we were near the demon, then he stranded me.” 

“That’s why he told people you were dead?” 

“Yeah. He thought the demon killed me.” 

“How did you survive?” 

Dean closes his eyes and slams his mouth shut. That’s Sam’s secret. 

“Answer me.” 

He feels another burn deep in his chest. He can’t stop himself. “Rescued,” he chokes. “Sammy.” His whole body is trembling. “Cas, please. I’m so sorry—for everything. I was a dick, I know, but I’d never…” 

Never what? Hunt? Torture? Betray Cas? 

He’d done all of those things. It was all true. Cas had every right to be angry. In fact, this is the way Cas should have treated him from the beginning. Cas was finally being smart about it. 

“Can’t trust me,” says Dean. “I’m a liar. I hurt. I didn’t kill Christian because I’m so fucking numb I didn’t care what happened. I’m bad. You know that.” Tears are flowing shamefully uninhibited down his face. He opens his eyes and all he can see is Cas. “I’m a monster. I’ll just hurt you again. I hurt everyone. I should have died so many times. I should have died on the ice. I don’t know why I’m alive. I’m not worth it. I shouldn’t be here.” 

Cas is so good and so strong. He’s come so far—too far to be broken again by Dean. 

Cas’ hand falls away from Dean’s cheek and the other angel releases him as well. Dean crumples. He hides his face in his hands. He can feel everyone looking at him. They all heard. They all watched him cry like a bitch. He’s back to reality. They all know the truth. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Someone wraps their arms around him. Someone else is shouting. Someone pulls him up and pulls him away. Dean comes back to himself. 

Bobby and Jess are shouting at the angels. Gabriel and the woman are shielding Cas behind their wings. Cas is staring past them all, watching Dean. 

Sam pulls Dean up to the house. “We couldn’t get you away from them,” he says. “I’m sorry. Gabriel is really strong. We couldn’t get to you. That fucker. After all we’ve done. Are you all right?” 

Dean wriggles free from Sam. “I’m ok,” he says. “Don’t be mad. They didn’t do anything wrong. Cas needed to hear that. Maybe he’ll finally get it.” 

Sam grabs him by both shoulders and spins him around. “You are not bad,” he says. “Understand? Bad shit happened, but _you_ are not bad.” 

Dean sighs because his little brother is still so innocent after all the shit he’s seen. He’ll always think the best of Dean, true or not. 

The door opens and slams shut. Bobby and Jess storm inside. 

“We got rid of them,” says Jess. “Toxic bastards. Dean, I take it all back. Stay the hell away from him. He’s dangerous. If he wants to believe the angels after all we’ve done for him, then fine.” 

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” says Dean. 

“He attacked you,” snaps Jess. 

“He was just using his grace to get me to talk.” 

“He was hurting you,” says Bobby. He’s got a shotgun in his hands and Dean has no idea where it came from. 

“He wanted to make sure I was telling the truth,” says Dean. “I’ve been compelled by an angel before. He didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“That was insanely disrespectful,” says Jess. 

“He thought I was friends with his fucking kidnapper,” snaps Dean. “He needed to know and he needed to be able to trust what I told him. If he has to use his grace to figure out the truth that’s find with me.” 

“This is not a healthy relationship,” says Jess. 

“I know,” shouts Dean. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“It’s not healthy for _you_ , idiot,” says Jess. “I had no idea he made you think those horrible things about yourself.” 

“I think horrible things all on my own, thank you very much.” 

There is a timid knock at the door followed by a much louder banging.

“It’s Gabriel,” the angel calls from the porch. “Don’t shoot.”


	31. Don't Shoot

Gabriel and Anna have cleaned up Bobby’s home by the time Castiel returns. They call to him from Bobby’s room and Castiel finds them huddled around a computer. 

“What are you doing?” asks Castiel. 

“Writing to Bobby,” answers Gabriel. 

Castiel peers over his shoulder to read the message. 

…

_Hi Bobby. I’m Gabriel. I’m in your house with Castiel. Come back so we can talk to you._

_…_  

“You need to tell him I am with you,” says Anna. 

“Why? He doesn’t know you.” 

“Don’t send that,” says Castiel. He shoves Gabriel to the side and takes control of the keyboard. “How does this work?” 

“This is why I should do it,” says Gabriel. 

Castiel deletes Gabriel’s message. 

“We are writing to him from one of his other email accounts,” answers Anna. “We do not have email and we were able to access this one.” 

Castiel shakes his head. Why and how doesn’t matter. He’ll ask Sam to explain later. “You are sure this will contact Bobby?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” answers Gabriel. “If he checks his email.” 

“I just type into the box?” 

Gabriel sighs. “Yeah, or you could move and I’ll do it.” 

Castiel ignores him and begins hunting for the letters that will spell out his message. 

“Oh my God,” mutters Gabriel. “We’re going to be here forever.” 

Castiel continues with his message. 

…

_Hello Bobby,_

_I am writing to you from your account, as I do not have an email address of my own. I am in your home on your computer._

_The hunter is dead. I killed him in your home as he was attempting to burn it down. Is Dean dead?_

_…_  

“Dude,” says Gabriel. “No.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” asks Castiel. 

“Tact, for one.” 

“It is indelicate to mention Dean’s passing in an email,” says Anna. “Bobby may not yet be aware. This is something you should discuss in person.” 

Castiel deletes part of his message and adds _I need to speak with you_. “I’m not sure what else to say.” 

“Do you mind?” asks Anna. She gestures to the keyboard. “You can approve it when I’m done.” 

Castiel moves to one side and allows Anna to compose a message on his behalf. He reads over her shoulder as she types. 

…

_Hello Bobby,_

_I am writing to you from your account, as I do not have an email address of my own. I am currently in your home in Sioux Falls. I am using one of your computers. I hope you do not mind. We were not able to find your phone number._

_I have some unpleasant news. The hunter who held me captive, Christian, broke into your home. He destroyed some of your belongings. I am here with two friends and we have cleaned up most of the mess._

_I need to speak with you. It is a matter of some urgency._

_Castiel_

…

“Good?” asks Anna. 

Castiel nods. “Yes. Thank you.” 

She sends the message. 

“How will we know if he reads it?” asks Castiel. 

“Hopefully he’ll write back,” answers Gabriel. 

Castiel nods and stares at the screen. 

“It might take him a while,” says Gabriel. “He might not see it right away.” 

“I will wait.” 

“I could be hours,” says Anna.

“Or days,” says Gabriel. 

“I understand,” says Castiel. 

Gabriel pats him on the shoulder. “Ok. Have fun with that. I’m going to see where this guy keeps his booze.” 

Castiel does not bother telling him the house is “dry.” 

The computer makes a strange sound. A message appears. 

“Wow,” says Anna. “That was prompt.” She opens it. 

…

_Calling you now. Answer the house phone._

… 

A few seconds later, the phone rings. Gabriel gets to it first. 

“Bobby Singer’s house, Gabriel speaking,” he says. 

Castiel snatches the phone from him and shoves Gabriel away. “Bobby? This is Castiel. Apologies for invading your privacy. Where are you? Are you well?” 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. “God, it’s good to hear from you. We’re out in Washington trying to track you down.” 

 _We’re._ Bobby is not alone. The others might be all right. Castiel did not realize he was worried until a knot untwists in his stomach. 

“Are you safe?” asks Bobby. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “Christian is dead and your home is mostly restored. I am here with two angels.” 

“Tell him the carpet is trashed,” whispers Gabriel. 

“We are still not sure how to remove the gasoline from the carpet,” says Castiel. 

“Christian is dead?” asks Bobby. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. “I killed him. It was over quickly. Are the others safe?” Part of him hopes Bobby will mention Dean. 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. “We’re all fine. Sam and Jess are with me. We’re just worried about you.”

“And Dean?” asks Castiel. He’s still angry, but his rage at Dean’s betrayal is warped. He can’t quite bring himself to hate. 

Bobby pauses. “He’s safe too.” 

“You’ve seen him?” asks Castiel. 

“Uh,” says Bobby. “He checked in with us not too long ago.” 

“But you have not seen him?” asks Castiel. It wouldn’t matter if they had. The demon could be possessing his body.

“Why do you want to know if we’ve seen him?” asks Bobby. 

That’s enough of an answer. He is clearly evading the question. Bobby knows something he believes is too delicate to say during a phone call. 

“Never mind,” says Castiel. “When will you return?” 

There is a soft thump in the background. “We’ll head back as soon as I wake up Sam and Jess,” answers Bobby. 

“Good,” says Castiel. “Would you like us to stay here and guard your home?” 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. “That would be great. Thanks.” 

“It is a two-day journey, correct?” Dean told him it the length of the trip. Something aches in Castiel’s chest. 

“Yeah,” answers Bobby. 

“All right,” says Castiel. “I will look for you in a few days.” 

Bobby pauses. Castiel thinks at first, the call is over, but he can hear something breathy on the other line. 

“Hey Cas,” says Bobby, “what did Dean write in Enochian after we brought you back to the house?” 

“What is your name?” answers Castiel. He remembers Dean’s clumsy letters. He’d tried to provoke Dean into killing him. 

“That’s right,” mutters Bobby. “Ok. Thanks. Just needed to make sure you’re really you.” 

“I am me,” says Castiel. It takes him a moment to realize Bobby was using that as a test to confirm his identity. Obviously Bobby cannot verify that he is himself over the phone. 

“See you soon, Cas,” says Bobby. 

“Preferably, yes,” says Castiel. 

Bobby laughs. “I’m gonna end the call now. Bye Cas.” 

“Good bye.” 

The line clicks and goes quiet. 

_Cas._

“Any word on douchebag Dean?” asks Gabriel. “Is he dead or what?” 

Anna hits him. 

Castiel leans against the wall. “I don’t know,” he answers. “Bobby was evasive.”

“Well that’s suspicious,” says Gabriel. “You sure we can trust these guys?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is that coming from a place of emotion or true knowledge?” asks Anna. 

“It’s—I’m not sure. I met Sam and Bobby first. They only ever tried to help, though they had more than enough opportunity to do otherwise.” He bites his lip. “Based on past behavioral patters, I believe they are trustworthy.” 

“What about the other one?” asks Gabriel. “Jess?” 

“Her connection to Sam as his wife and fellow healer indicates she is trustworthy as well.” He rests a hand over his heart, fingers thumping against his chest. He doesn’t need to analyze these people. They are good. Dean was good. Dean betrayed him. Did Dean betray him? He remembers his initial rage but it’s getting harder to revive the burn. He feels empty, cold. 

xxx 

True to Bobby’s estimate, it takes almost two days for the humans to arrive. When they hear cars on Bobby’s road, the angels gather outside to wait. 

“Four,” says Gabriel. “He lied. It’s a trap.” 

Anna flares her wings. “Castiel, get behind us.”

Castiel urges his grace to find the humans. Gabriel is right. There are four. “Dean,” he breathes. He hurries down the porch steps with the angels behind him.

“Which one is he?” asks Gabriel. “Fucking lying bastards.” 

“Do not attack unless I signal you,” says Anna. 

“Don’t hurt them,” says Castiel. 

Dean’s black car pulls up in front of him. Dean is driving. They make eye contact through the glass. Dean is radiating joy and fear. He hurries out of the car and approaches Castiel. 

Without warning and before Anna can intervene, Gabriel hits Dean hard in the face. 

“Son of a bitch,” shouts Dean. 

“Gabriel,” shouts Anna. 

Castiel reaches toward the human on instinct and heals the injury. “I thought you were dead,” he says. The rage is creeping back now. 

“I thought you were dead, too,” says Dean. 

 _Is that why you betrayed me? Did you lose hope?_  

The other humans rush to Dean’s side. 

“What the hell was that for?” demands Sam. 

“Man, you’re tall,” says Gabriel. 

“Why did you hit him?” 

“Because he deserved it. Ask him why he was hunting with Christian.” 

Dean responds to Castiel instead of Gabriel. “How did you know about that?”

“We—they were tracking him,” answers Castiel. “We saw you together in Alaska.” 

“He found my mom,” says Dean. “The demon had been feeding. She was really strong. I just needed him to take me to her. I didn’t know who he was until we were already heading to her.” 

Castiel tilts his head to the side. He wants to believe. 

Dean’s expression falls. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have shot him on sight. I was being stupid. I thought I could use him as bait or a distraction for the demon, you know? Kill two birds with one stone.” 

“You said you wanted to face the demon alone,” says Castiel. Did he imagine that? 

“I—shit—yeah I did say that. Cas, I’m sorry. I should have shot him. I knew better. I wasn’t thinking straight. I—I was—I don’t know. I was fucked up. I’m always fucked up. I’m sorry, Cas.” 

Dean is consistent. His actions make sense when he explains himself. But he is a hunter. He is skilled at deception. 

“Please believe me,” says Dean. “You can’t think that I would—He was a monster—I’m not—I wouldn’t—I’m sorry.” 

Dean and his eternal apologies. Dean and his babbling. Castiel cups Dean’s cheek. He needs the truth. His grace eases into the human. 

“How long have you known Christian?” asks Castiel. 

“Since I was a kid,” answers Dean. 

“You hunted with him?” 

“Once or twice,” answers Dean. “He was a friend of Dad’s.”

Castiel steels himself. “Did you know he was the one who captured me?” 

“No, I swear to God,” says Dean. “I didn’t know until I was already in the car with him.” 

But Dean did know, and he stayed with him. Anna stands beside him and lends her grace to aid in the confession. Dean winces. If he’s guilty, he deserves it. If he’s innocent, Castiel will apologize. 

Sam tries to push Castiel away but Gabriel blocks him. He shields them from the three horrified humans. Castiel tries to concentrate over the shouting. 

“Why were you with him?” asks Castiel. 

“He called Dad’s phone to tell him he’d found the demon,” answers Dean. 

“Why did you let him help you hunt?”

Dean is trembling. His eyes are blow wide with fear or guilt or some equally sticky emotion. 

“Desperate,” answers Dean. “I was so desperate.” 

A voice in the back of his mind tells Castiel to stop.

“How did you find out he owned me?” asks Castiel.

“He had one of your feathers,” answers Dean, his voice unsteady. “It was black. They’re so rare. I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was yours. It was small, Cas.” His eyes are glassy. “Looked like he took it when your wings were still growing.” Tears are slowly rolling down his cheeks. 

Castiel wipes a tear away with his thumb.

“What was your plan?” asks Castiel, softer this time. 

“I was going to use him to distract the demon,” answers Dean. 

Castiel can feel his entire body trembling beneath his touch. 

“I was going to let him fight it while I figured out how to restrain it.” 

“And?” asks Castiel. 

“And then I was going to kill him, if the demon didn’t, and bring Mom back to see if Sammy could save her.” 

“What happened?” 

“He found out I knew about you,” answers Dean. “I emailed Sam and Bobby to tell them I found him. He saw the email. I don’t know how. I was probably a dumbass and left my computer open. He waited until we were near the demon, then he stranded me.” Dean’s voice cracks as he confesses. 

“That’s why he told people you were dead?” 

“Yeah. He thought the demon killed me.” 

“How did you survive?” 

Dean presses his lips into a thin line and shuts his eyes. Something pushes back against Castiel’s grace, so Castiel instinctually increases his power. 

“Answer me,” says Castiel. 

“Rescued,” chokes Dean. “Sammy.” 

Dean is resisting. He didn’t know humans could do that. He urges his grace deeper and recoils quickly when he feels a gut-wrenching pain. 

“Cas, please,” begs Dean. “I’m so sorry—for everything. I was a dick, I know, but I’d never…” 

The pain is Dean’s and it grows more intense farther Castiel delves. 

“Can’t trust me,” gasps Dean. “I’m a liar. I hurt. I didn’t kill Christian because I’m so fucking numb I didn’t care what happened. I’m bad. You know that.” 

Dean hates himself. He disgusts himself. Castiel reaches out to the source of the pain, abandoning his quest for truth.

“I’m a monster,” says Dean, tears flowing freely now. “I’ll just hurt you again. I manipulated you—tricked you into thinking I’m good.” 

Castiel directs Anna’s grace to the pain. They can’t reach it. Anna shakes her head. “Grace can’t fix this,” she whispers. “We’re making it worse.” 

“I hurt everyone,” says Dean. “I should have died so many times. I don’t know why I’m alive. I’m not worth it. I shouldn’t be here.” 

Castiel and Anna draw back from Dean. The human collapses and Castiel does not dare reach for him. He should have known better. Dean is trustworthy. Castiel should have listened to his gut, not his scars. Scars tell him humans are all the same—he can’t afford to get hurt again. His gut tells him scars are proof positive that he will heal. 

_Monster._

Dean rocks slowly back and forth with his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Sam is shouting for Dean. Bobby is shouting at Gabriel. Jessica is shouting at Castiel. Anna pulls Castiel back and motions for Gabriel to let the humans pass. Sam rushes forward and collects his brother in his arms and pulls him to the house; away from Castiel. 

“How dare you,” shouts Jessica. 

“We did what was necessary,” says Gabriel. “He’ll be fine.” 

“So help me,” says Bobby, “if you hurt that boy I will make it my personal mission to—a” 

“We simply compelled him to tell the truth,” says Anna. “He is not injured. Though he does seem to be suffering from a great deal of emotional trauma.” 

“No shit,” snaps Jessica. “And you made him relive it. Do you know how hard it’s been to get him to talk?” She jabs a finger at Castiel. “That was a violation. If you wanted the truth you should have asked his permission before using your grace.” 

“I suppose you are right,” says Castiel. 

“We needed to know if we could trust him,” says Anna. 

“Permission,” repeats Jessica. 

“Cas, I know you’re hurting,” says Bobby, “but you don’t gang up on someone you care about. Dean’s been through enough. I’m glad you’re better and I’m glad you’ve found your people, but it’s time for you to go.” 

“But I—” 

“Get off my property,” says Bobby. “We can talk this over later when I’m not seeing red.” 

“Mountain out of a freaking molehill,” mutters Gabriel. 

“You heard him,” shouts Jessica. “Go.” 

Anna spreads her wings and pulls Castiel and Gabriel to leave with her. They leave. From the air, Castiel sees Bobby go to his truck and retrieve a gun similar to one Dean owns. He and Jessica retreat to the house. 

Castiel can feel Dean’s presence fading as he flies away. He grits his teeth and dives back to the ground. 

“Castiel, wait,” calls Anna. 

He lands and tucks his wings to his back as he approaches the house. He hears the other angels land behind him. 

“What are you doing?” asks Gabriel. “That crazy old guy is going to shoot you.” 

“I can’t leave like this,” says Castiel. “I need to talk to him alone.”

“Or we could just leave and forget about them,” says Gabriel.

Anna grabs Castiel’s shoulder and spins him around to face her. She stares intently into his eyes. “You love him,” she says. 

“I don’t know,” says Castiel,” but I care for him and I hurt him and I need to make it right. Every time we hurt each other, we run. This is an opportunity to change. I will not waste it.” 

“Dammit,” mutters Gabriel. “Fine. But you stay behind us until crazy beard puts the gun down.” 

“Fine,” says Castiel. 

The angels march ahead of him to the door. The humans are arguing about them inside. 

Gabriel knocks. “It’s Gabriel,” he says. “Don’t shoot.”


	32. Higher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback! Compliments feed my ego and critiques/suggestions make the story better...win-win. TBH, this is the first draft of a 100,000 word story, which means somewhere in there is the final draft of a 65,000 word story. Don't be afraid to let me know what you think after reading a chapter. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me. I feel like this story is coming to an end, but I might do a sequel...or maybe just timestamps. 
> 
> Is there anything else you'd like to see before this is over? Any questions left unanswered? Let me know in the comments! :D
> 
> PS: My cat really wanted you all to know "fvg                                                 bn" No idea what it means, but he was determined to type it.

Bobby opens the door, gun still in his hand. Dean rushes forward to stand behind him. His eyes are bloodshot and his face is red. Castiel did that to him. 

“Castiel would like to speak to the hunter,” says Anna. “I think it’s best if they speak alone. We can get acquainted elsewhere.” 

“Like hell,” says Sam. 

“Back off sasquatch,” says Gabriel. Castiel kicks him. 

“Mr. Singer,” says Anna. She seems to be doing her best to be diplomatic. “They have unfinished business. I think our presence is causing them undo stress. If what Dean said is true, they deserve a chance to talk.” 

“Bobby, move,” says Dean. “It’s Cas. He’s not going to hurt us and he won’t let these guys hurt us.” 

Bobby glares at them. “Fine,” he growls. “You two can stay right here in the living room and we’ll wait on the porch.” He finally puts the gun down. “Dean, holler if you need us.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Singer. My name is Anna. I’m sorry we did not have a chance to make a formal introduction.” 

Castiel shoves past them as Dean pushes his family outside. They shut the door behind them. 

Dean is radiating pain. 

“Forgive me,” says Castiel. “I thought—” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” says Dean quickly. “I get it.” 

Castiel most certainly needs to apologize. He examines Dean. “Are you hurt?” 

“No, not at all.”

“I’ve never seen you so upset,” says Castiel.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “That’s been happening a lot lately.”

“I did not injure you?” asks Castiel. 

“No,” answers Dean. “I’m fine. Cas, I’m sorry I left you here. I’m sorry I said that stupid shit. I just—I wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into.” 

“I think I have a better idea of it now,” says Castiel. Dean doesn’t think Castiel is stupid. Dean think’s he is too dangerous to be around Castiel. He thinks he manipulates. He doesn’t believe someone could love him just because. In Dean, Castiel hears the echo of his own fears. He takes a careful step forward. 

Dean takes a step back. 

It’s either fear or rejection. Castiel takes another step. 

Dean does not move. “What are you doing?” he asks. 

“I intend to make physical contact with you,” answers Castiel. “Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” mutters Dean. His body is tense, braced in a defensive posture. 

“You seem extremely uncomfortable,” says Castiel.

“You’ve made a lot of progress, Cas. I don’t want to be the thing that sets you back.”

It’s fear. Castiel moves closer. “You are not responsible for my setbacks,” he says. He raises his hand. Dean’s eyes track his every move. Castiel closes the distance between them and cradles Dean’s face in his hands.

Dean takes a shaky breath and rests his hands on Castiel’s hips. “I like your shirt,” he says.

“Do not attempt to trivialize this moment,” says Castiel.

“I wasn—”

Castiel leans in. “Please,” he breathes. As planned, Dean obeys. Castiel presses his lips against Dean’s. It’s forgiveness, an apology, a confession; it’s what they both need. 

Dean’s heart is pounding so hard Castiel is certain a human could hear it. “Dean,” he says. He pulls away just slightly. “Your heart rate indicates you are on the verge of another panic attack.” 

“I’m not having a—”

Castiel kisses him again because it seems to be the most effective way to combat the human’s obstinace. He drops his hands to lead Dean to the couch. He spreads his wings to shield them from the world. It’s dark and warm and Dean’s heart is already slowing. 

“Listen to my breathing,” says Castiel. “Try to match it. Sometimes it helps if you count.” He holds Dean against him to feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

“Ok,” says Dean. He does as he’s told. 

Castiel lets him have a few moments of silence to regain his composure. “I’m sorry I lost faith in you,” he says. 

“I’m sorry I diminished your decisions by assuming I know what’s best for you,” says Dean. 

Castiel laughs. “You talked to Jessica,” he says. 

“Sam _and_ Jess,” says Dean. “And Bobby—but you don’t really talk to Bobby so much as sit and listen while he lectures you about being a dumbass.” 

Castiel laughs again. “Your family gives good advice. I believe the angels were more interested in the dramatic nature of our relationship than I productive resolution.” 

“You told the angels about us?” asks Dean. 

“Yes. I told them many things,” answers Castiel. “I kept you a secret at first. I’m not sure why. Looking back, I believe it was because I missed you.” 

Dean repositions himself to hold Castiel closer and nuzzles into his hair. “I missed you too. I shouldn’t have run away.” 

“You panicked,” says Castiel. “I understand. I panicked too. I should have been more understanding of the depths of your self-worth issues.” 

“I don’t—well you have self-worth issues too,” says Dean. 

“Yes,” agrees Castiel. “I am damaged, and so are you. Perhaps that will result in a tempestuous relationship, but I am willing to try if you are.” 

“What if I hurt you?” 

 _What if I hut you, too?_  

Castiel sighs. “Dean, we have two doctors, a retired hunter and four angels watching us. I do not thing we will be able to inflict any kind of irreparable damage.” 

Dean rests his cheek against Castiel and inhales deeply. He can feel Dean’s smile. “Yeah. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a long fucking time.” 

“As Balthazar says, ‘ditto.’” 

“Who the fuck is Balthazar?” 

“An angel,” answers Castiel. “It’s a long story.” They are interrupted by a knock on the window. Castiel pulls his wings back to see Gabriel pressed against the glass. 

“Can we come back in yet?” he asks. 

“Yes,” answers Castiel. He turns back to Dean. “Gabriel is an acquired taste, but I think you will enjoy his liberal use of sarcasm.” 

Gabriel bolts back into the house with the others close behind. “So you guys kissed and made up?” asks Gabriel. “I mean, we all watched you kiss and you’re cuddling on the couch like fledglings so I assume you made up.” 

“We’ve made up,” confirms Castiel.

“Good,” says Gabriel. “We made up too. I even let Sam inspect my wings.” He winks.

Castiel frowns and looks at Sam. “But you’re married,” he says. Surely Sam knows better than to touch the wings of an angel he’s just met. Perhaps he misunderstood. Or perhaps Gabriel was being Gabriel. 

The blood drains from Sam’s face. “What?” 

Gabriel cackles. 

Anna and Bobby respond at the same time. “I warned you,” they say. 

“Don’t worry,” says Gabriel. “He was real gentle.” 

“Oh my god,” breathes Sam. 

Jessica meanwhile is doubled over with laughter. 

“Jess, it’s not funny,” says Sam.

“You made a friend,” she says, gasping.

Gabriel wraps a wing around Sam. He’s so at ease it’s as if they’ve been together for years. Castiel can’t help but glance at Dean. 

“It’s ok, baby,” says Gabriel. “They just don’t understand us.” 

Sam is distraught. “Help,” he says. 

Anna mercifully intervenes and strikes Gabriel with a quick blast of her grace. 

“Mother fucker,” shouts Gabriel. “Words, Anna. Use your words.” 

“Behave,” says Anna. 

Gabriel pulls his wing back and moves away from Sam. “Touchy,” he mutters. “But hey, good news. Bobby said we can all spend the night here.” 

“Don’t know what the hell I was thinking,” mutters Bobby. 

xxx

Gabriel and Anna stay in the cabins. Sam and Jessica stay in a room downstairs near Bobby’s room. Castiel stays with Dean. He lays on his stomach with his head pillowed on Dean’s chest and one wing extended over them.

“You sure you’re comfortable?” asks Dean.

“Yes,” answers Castiel. 

“Because I promise I won’t take it personally if you don’t want to stay with me.”

“Do you want me to leave?” 

“No, of course not.”

“Then please shut up.”

Dean’s chest shakes as he laughs. “All right. Message received.” 

Castiel traces his fingers along the ridge of Dean’s collarbone. His mind is quiet. 

“How long will you stay?” asks Dean.

“I don’t know,” answers Castiel. “The angels are training me to become a guardian. I will need to return to them eventually.”

“What’s a guardian?” 

“Someone who protects a designated territory.” Castiel worries his lower lip between his teeth. “I am learning quickly. I will never be as strong as a true angel, but Anna thinks I could be strong enough to be a guardian.” He should just say it. He doesn’t need Dean’s permission. “I was thinking, once my training is complete, I could be the guardian for this region.”

Dean squeezes him tighter against his chest. “Yes,” he says. “Do that. You could live here. You know, if you want to live here. Or we could get a place somewhere. Not that you have to move in with me.”

Castiel moves his hand to cover Dean’s mouth. “What do _you_ want?” he asks. He lifts his hand.

“Uh, I don’t know. Whatever you want.” 

“You can express your desire,” says Castiel. “I am not going to alter my wishes just to make them align with yours.”

“I want you to stay here forever,” says Dean. “Screw training. Just stay.”

“No,” says Castiel. He lifts his head so he can see Dean. The human immediately tries to avoid eye contact. “I do not want to ‘screw training.’ I want to learn more and visit you frequently until I am more competent with my grace.”

Dean finally looks at Castiel.

“You do not manipulate me,” says Castiel. “You impact me because I care about you, but that does not mean I will always bend to your wishes. Please stop worrying about it.” 

Dean nods, lips curling into a smile. “Ok, Cas. I trust you.” 

“I trust you, too,” says Castiel. 

“You better,” says Dean. “It’s pretty hard to lie to you since you learned that trick with your grace.” 

Castiel returns to rest against Dean’s chest. “I should not have used that on you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. We can hate ourselves in the morning. Tonight, I just want to be happy that you came back.”

“Agreed, but we still have a number of unpleasant things to discuss.”

“Like what?”

“Like what happened when you encountered your mother, how you feel about hunting, the fact that I am not the only one of my kind, if your family’s work has been compromised—”

“Not the only one of your kind?” asks Dean. “Way to bury the lead. Did you meet another half-angel?” 

“No,” answers Castiel quickly. He knows better than to reveal Claire without Anna’s permission. “Anna told me there are others, or there _were_ others. We are called nephilim and apparently we are something of an abomination in both realms.”

“You’re not an abomination, Cas.”

“I believe you have a biased opinion.” 

Dean sighs. “A psychopath and an abomination. What a fucked up pair we make.” 

Castiel presses a small kiss into Dean’s neck. The human needs to relax. He wonders if his methods of relaxation will work for Dean. The breathing exercise certainly worked. “Come with me.” He crawls off of the bed and pulls Dean with him. 

“Where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise,” answers Castiel. After a second thought, he frowns. “If this frightens you, please tell me and I will stop.”

“Should I be worried?” asks Dean.

“No,” answers Castiel. “This is perfectly safe, in theory. Though, admittedly, I’ve never tried it before.” He leads Dean downstairs and through the back door of the house. 

“Is this like an angel thing?” asks Dean. 

“Something like that,” answers Castiel. Dean follows him into the grass and Castiel spreads his wings. It’s a moonless night. The stars glitter in the inky vastness of the sky. He pulls Dean into his chest. 

The human is already tense and he’s now holding his breath. 

“Dean, this is meant to relax you.” 

“I’m relaxed,” mutters Dean. 

“You are clinging to me and we have not even left the ground.”

“Shit. Ok, we’re going to fly. Right? That’s why we’re out here?” asks Dean. “Because I’m totally fine with that. It’s just, there’s just, I kinda have this small fear of heights. It’s not a big deal. It’s really more a fear of falling. I’ve flown in airplanes and stuff before, but that’s only if I really have to.”

Castiel kisses him again and is rewarded with silence. It is remarkable how quickly Dean responds to physical contact. “You do not have to fly with me if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” says Dean. “I just need to panic about it for a second.”

“That seems counter productive.” 

“Don’t knock my method.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but allows Dean a few moments to fret.

“Ok,” says Dean. “So, how are we going to do this? Is it like a hobbit, eagle situation or like a Lois Lane, Superman situation?”

“I will carry you, like this,” answers Castiel. He lifts Dean in his arms. “You will hold on—ouch—yes, like that.”

Dean’s arms are wrapped around Castiel’s neck with surprising might for a human. “Sorry,” mutters Dean. He does not loosen his grip. 

“Then I will lift us both and fly to the other side of the field,” finishes Castiel. “I can land at any time.” 

Dean nods, every aspect of him radiating fear. 

“Or,” offers Castiel, “I could set you down and we could go back inside and maybe try this another time.”

“If I think about it any longer I’m going to chicken out,” says Dean. “Just go.” 

“Are you certain?” 

“Just fly, Cas.” 

Castiel rolls his shoulders, stretches his wings wide and pushes off of the ground. Dean’s eyes are closed. Castiel stays close to the ground. If Dean fears heights, it might ease his mind to know he does not have far to fall. The flight is short. He lands gently and feels Dean flinch. The human cracks one eye open. He relaxes his grip from around Castiel’s neck and Castiel eases him back onto the ground.

“Are you all right?” asks Castiel. 

“I’m awesome,” mutters Dean. “Just gonna sit here on the ground for a second.” Dean crumples and falls rather than sits. 

Castiel sits beside him and draws his wings around his human. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” answers Dean. “I’m going to panic about it again for a few more seconds, then I want to give it another shot.” 

“That seems unwise considering your reaction.” 

Dean takes a few steadying breaths, then takes Castiel’s hand. “I’m ready,” he says. “Let’s try this again. Maybe I’ll get brave and open my eyes.”

“I will not drop you.” 

“I know. I trust you.” 

They stand and Castiel again takes his human in his arms. Dean has a white-knuckle grip on him. Castiel pushes off from the ground. This time, instead of flying straight across the field, he hovers in the air. Dean is shaking so hard he’s almost vibrating. 

“I know we’re not on the ground yet,” says Dean. “I can hear your wings.” 

“We are hovering approximately fifteen feet above the ground.” 

“Fuck my life.”

“Do you want to get down?” asks Castiel. 

“No,” answers Dean. “I’m trying to get brave. I really want to look but I also really don’t want to see how high we are.” 

“A fall from this height most likely, would not hurt you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Dean clenches his fists tighter, then relaxes every so slightly. He opens his eyes and looks at Castiel.

“Hello, Dean.” 

His human grins. “Hey, Cas.” Dean licks his lips, then glances down. “Ok, this isn’t as terrible as I thought it was going to be.”

“Would you like to go higher?”

Dean swallows hard, then nods. “Yeah, fuck it. Let’s go higher.”


	33. Fuck it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update...Life showed up at my house drunk and in desperate need of a shower...then it crashed on my couch for a few weeks and I couldn't get it to fuck the hell off...

Bobby throws open the door with one hand and aims his shotgun with the other. Castiel and the other angels are crowded around the door. 

Dean pushes past Sam and positions himself behind Bobby. Cas’ face is twisted with some expression Dean’s never seen on him. 

“Castiel would like to speak to the hunter,” says the female angel. “I think it’s best if they speak alone. We can get acquainted elsewhere.” 

“Like hell,” says Sam. 

“Back off Sasquatch,” says Gabriel.

Cas should have stayed away. Why did he come back? He’s with other angels. He’s safe now. They’re clearly good at protecting him. Why didn’t he just keep flying? 

“Mr. Singer,” says the woman, “they have unfinished business. I think our presence is causing them undo stress. If what Dean said is true, they deserve a chance to talk.” 

“Bobby, move,” says Dean. “It’s Cas. He’s not going to hurt us and he won’t let these guys hurt us.”

“Fine,” grunts Bobby. “You two can stay right here in the living room and we’ll wait on the porch.” He sets his shotgun by the door. “Dean, holler if you need us.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Singer,” says the woman. “My name is Anna. I’m sorry we did not have a chance to make a formal introduction.” 

Cas pushes past the other angels. Dean shoves Sam and Jess outside. Their respective posses are still arguing when they shut the door. 

Cas looks up at Dean through long dark lashes. “Forgive me,” he says. “I thought—” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” says Dean. “I get it.” 

“Are you hurt?” Castiel tilts his head, inspecting Dean. 

“No, not at all.” 

“I’ve never seen you so upset.” 

Dean’s cheeks are still burning from his tears. His eyes are dry. He probably looks like shit. He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s been happening a lot lately.” 

“I did not injure you?” 

“No,” says Dean. “I’m fine. Cas, I’m sorry I left you here. I’m sorry I said that stupid shit. I just—I wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into.” 

“I think I have a better idea of it now,” says Cas. He takes a cautious set forward. 

Dean takes a step back. 

 _Let him like you. That’s your job._  

Cas takes another step. 

Dean holds his ground. “What are you doing?” 

“I intend to make physical contact with you,” answers Cas. “Is that all right?” 

“Yeah,” mutters Dean. He clenches his fists at his sides. 

Castiel is only a few feet away. “You seem extremely uncomfortable.” 

“You’ve made a lot of progress, Cas. I don’t want to be the thing that sets you back.” 

“You are not responsible for my setbacks.” He takes another step, one hand extended. 

It’s terrible and wonderful all at once. Dean can’t focus on his thoughts as they fly through his mind, but he recognizes panic. He clenches and unclenches his fists. What if this doesn’t last? What if he’s not good enough? What if he loves Cas and Cas doesn’t love him? What if Cas loves him but he doesn’t love Cas? What if this is all for nothing? 

Cas closes the space between them and takes Dean’s face in his hands. Dean tries to relax. He rests his hands on Cas’ hips.

“I like your shirt,” says Dean.

“Do not attempt to trivialize this moment,” says Cas.

“I wasn—”

“Please,” says Cas.

The breath of the word ghosts over Dean’s lips. He shuts up. 

Cas kisses him. It’s sweet and soft and it feels like absolution for his sins and Dean can feel another breakdown coming. 

 _I love you._  

If he says that, Cas will stay. It’s manipulative. Does he really love Cas or does he just love the way Cas makes him feel? Does he need him or does he love him? Is he using Cas so he can heal? Is he using his family? 

“Dean,” murmurs Cas. He pulls away just enough to speak. “Your heart rate indicates you are on the verge of another panic attack.” 

“I’m not having a—” 

Cas silences him with a kiss to the cheek. He takes Dean’s hand and leads him to sit on the couch. The angel settles in beside him and spreads his wings to cocoon them in soft dark feathers. 

“Listen to my breathing,” says Cas. “Try to match it. Sometimes it helps if you count.” 

“Ok,” says Dean. He listens and inhales when Cas inhales and exhales when Cas exhales. They sit in silence until Dean’s heart stops pounding in his ears.

“I am sorry I lost faith in you,” says Cas. 

“I’m sorry I diminished your decisions by assuming I know what’s best for you,” says Dean. He can hear and feel it when Cas laughs. 

“You talked to Jessica,” he says. 

“Sam _and_ Jess,” says Dean. “And Bobby—but you don’t really talk to Bobby so much as sit and listen while he lectures you about being a dumbass.” 

Cas laughs again. “Your family gives good advice,” he says. “I believe the angels were more interested in the dramatic nature of our relationship than a productive resolution.” 

“You told the angels about us?” 

“Yes. I told them many things. I kept you a secret at first. I’m not sure why. Looking back, I believe it was because I missed you.” 

Dean pulls Cas into his arms and nuzzles into his hair. “I missed you too. I shouldn’t have run away.” 

“You panicked,” says Cas. “I understand. I panicked too. I should have been more understanding of the depths of your self-worth issues.” 

“I don’t—well you have self-worth issues too.” 

“Yes,” says Cas. “I am damaged, and so are you. Perhaps that will result in a tempestuous relationship, but I am willing to try if you are.”

“What if I hurt you?”

“Dean, we have two doctors, a retired hunter and four angels watching us. I do not think we will be able to inflict any kind of irreparable damage.”

Dean rests his head against Cas, breathing in the scent of his hair.

_I love you._

Dean sighs. “Yeah. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a long fucking time.”

“As Balthazar says, ‘ditto.’” 

“Who the fuck is Balthazar?” 

“An angel,” answers Cas. “It’s a long story.” 

Cas doesn’t get a chance to elaborate because someone knocks on the window. Cas unfolds his wings and they see Gabriel’s face pressed against the glass.

“Can we come back in yet?” shouts Gabriel. 

“Yes,” Cas answers. He sighs. “Gabriel is an acquired taste. But I think you will enjoy his liberal use of sarcasm.”

Gabriel is the first on through the door. The others fall in behind him. “So you guys kissed and made up? I mean, we all watched you kiss and you’re cuddling on the couch like fledglings so I assume you made up.” 

“We’ve made up,” says Cas. 

“Good,” says Gabriel. “We made up too. I even let Sam inspect my wings.” He winks.

Cas frowns and looks at Sam. “But you’re married.”

Sam pales. “What?” 

Gabriel cackles.

Anna and Bobby respond in unison with “I warned you.”

“Don’t worry,” says Gabriel. “He was real gentle.” 

“Oh my god,” mutters Sam. “Jess, it’s not funny.” 

Jess is doubled over, clutching her stomach. “You made a friend.” She has to gasp between laughs. 

Gabriel wraps a wing around Sam. “It’s ok, baby. They just don’t understand us.”

Sam looks to Cas and Dean. “Help.” 

Anna’s hand suddenly glows and a quick flash of light strikes Gabriel in the side. 

“Mother fucker,” shouts Gabriel. “Words, Anna. Use your words.” 

“Behave,” says Anna.

Gabriel retracts his wing and steps away from Sam. “Touchy,” he mutters. “But hey, good news. Bobby said we can all spend the night here.” 

“Don’t know what the hell I was thinking,” says Bobby. 

xxx 

Cas is lying against Dean’s chest with on massive wing draped over the side of the bed. Dean’s itching to run his fingers through those soft black feathers, but he knows he should ask before he does it and he’s not brave enough to broach the subject. He still can’t shake the novelty of having an angel on top of him. 

“You’re sure you’re comfortable?” asks Dean. 

“Yes,” answers Cas. 

“Because I promise I won’t take it personally if you don’t want to stay with me.” 

“Do you want me to leave?” asks Cas. 

“No,” answers Dean quickly, “of course not.” 

“Then please shut up.” 

Dean laughs. “All right. Message received.” 

Cas is running his fingers over Dean’s skin leaving a little trail of heat as he moves. This is right. He’s home, the people he loves are safe, the man he loves is might just love him back; this is the best his life has ever been. It won’t last, thought. Cas is an angel and he needs to be with other angels. He’s strong and smart and beautiful, and he finally seems to realize it. Dean’s human. How long can he possibly keep Cas satisfied? 

 _Fuck it._  

“How long will you stay?” asks Dean. He knows as soon as Cas gives him an answer he’s going to start counting down the minutes until Cas leaves. 

“I don’t know. The angels are training me to become a guardian. I will need to return to them eventually.” 

Eventually. Dean can’t count down the minutes until “eventually” arrives. 

 _Dammit, Cas._  

“What’s a guardian?” asks Dean.

“Someone who protects a designated territory,” answers Cas. “I am learning quickly. I will never be as strong as a true angel, but Anna thinks I could be strong enough to be a guardian.” 

He pauses and Dean winces internally. 

“I was thinking,” continues Cas, “once my training is complete, I could be the guardian for this region.” 

Dean hugs Cas because, thank God, that’s not what Dean thought he was going to say. “Yes,” says Dean. “Do that. You could live here. You know, if you want to live here. Or we could get a place somewhere. Not that you have to move in with me.” 

Cas actually puts his hand over Dean’s mouth to shut him up. Dean is both proud and offended.

“What do _you_ want?” he asks. He moves his hand. 

That should be an easy question. “I don’t know,” answers Dean. “Whatever you want.” 

“You can express your desire. I am not going to alter my wishes just to make them align with yours.” 

It sounds obvious when Cas says it like that. He’s an angel and he’s so strong. Dean should be surprised he has any impact on Cas at all. “I want you to stay here forever,” says Dean, because why not go all in at this point? “Screw training. Just stay.”

_We’ll all stay together at Bobby’s forever; Sam, Jess, Gabriel, Anna, Baltha-whatever, and me and you. We’ll stay and no one will ever leave again. I’m clingy and needy and broken and I don’t think I can take losing another person I love._

“No,” says Cas. He looks up and Dean looks away. “I do not want to ‘screw training.’ I want to learn more and visit you frequently until I am more competent with my grace.” 

Dean risks looking down at Cas. That’s reasonable. Cas isn’t leaving forever. He’s just splitting his time. It’s a healthy move for him. He needs to be around other angels. 

“You do not manipulate me,” says Cas. “You impact me because I care about you, but that does not mean I will always bend to your wishes. Please stop worrying about it.” 

Cas is so strong. 

Dean nods. “Ok, Cas. I trust you.” 

“I trust you, too.” 

Dean’s cheeks begin to burn. He’s not sure if Cas can tell he’s blushing from where he’s laying. “You better,” says Dean. “It’s pretty hard to lie to you since you learned that trick with your grace.” 

Cas wilts back into Dean’s chest. “I should not have used that on you.” 

Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. We can hate ourselves in the morning. Tonight, I just want to be happy that you came back.” 

“Agreed, but we still have a number of unpleasant things to discuss.” 

Dean tries not to wince. “Like what?” 

“Like what happened when you encountered your mother, how you feel about hunting, the fact that I am not the only one of my kind, if your family’s work has been compromised—” 

“Not the only one of your kind?” interrupts Dean. “Way to bury the lead. Did you meet another half-angel?” 

“No,” answers Cas. “Anna told me there are others, or there _were_ others. We are called nephilim and apparently we are something of an abomination in both realms.” 

“You’re not an abomination, Cas.”

The angel shifts his wing and his feathers puff as they brush against Dean’s body. “I believe you have a biased opinion.”

_I love you so much._

“A psychopath and an abomination,” mutters Dean. “What a fucked up pair we make.”

Cas tilts his head up and kisses Dean’s throat. “Come with me,” he says. He folds his wing and gets up, dragging Dean out of bed. 

“Where are we going?” asks Dean.

“It’s a surprise.” He pauses and frowns. “If this frightens you, please tell me and I will stop.”

What the hell does that mean? “Should I be worried?” asks Dean. 

“No,” answers Cas. “This is perfectly safe, in theory. Though, admittedly, I’ve never tried it before.” Cas is leading them out of the house. 

“Is this like an angel thing?” asks Dean. 

“Something like that,” answers Cas.

Dean follows him into the yard. Cas spreads his wings and Dean’s blood runs cold. Cas is going to ask him to fly. How does that even work? Planes are one thing; Dean can fly if he’s got something else to think about. Heights, falls, dangling in mid air, he’s done it all before for the sake of a mission. This is recreational. There's no point to him being in the air and no distraction. 

It seems Cas has already figured out that Dean’s nervous. The angel pulls him into his arms. “Dean,” he says, “this is meant to relax you.”

“I’m relaxed,” says Dean. Recreational flying; he can do that if it makes Cas happy. New mission; make Cas happy.

“You are clinging to me and we have not even left the ground.” 

Whatever small hope Dean had that they were going to stay grounded is gone now. “Shit,” he mutters. “Ok, we’re going to fly. Right? That’s why we’re out here?” He’s stopped listening to himself. He knows he’s talking too much. If he falls, he might be able to land without breaking anything. It all depends on how high Cas takes him. What if Cas drops him? What if this is all an elaborate prank?

Cas suddenly kisses him and Dean forgets what he was talking about. “You do not have to fly with me if you don’t want to,” says Cas. 

“I want to,” says Dean. “I just need to panic about it for a second.”

“That seems counter productive.” 

“Don’t knock my method,” says Dean. He rests his forehead against Cas’ shoulder. 

 _I trust you._  

He’d said it. They both said it. Was it true? Did Dean mean it? He feels Cas squeeze him gently, pulling him closer. Yeah, he meant it. He trusts Cas. The angel won’t let him fall. If he did let him fall, the impact would probably kill Dean and that might be for the best. 

He shakes his head quickly, his brother’s words echoing in his mind. 

_You’re spiraling._

He is. He’s spiraling. Since when does Dean Winchester panic about every little thing?

 _Since dad died._  

Enough. He’s got to get away from himself. Maybe Cas is right. “Ok,” says Dean. “So, how are we going to do this? Is it like a hobbit, eagle situation or like a Lois Lane, Superman situation?” 

“I will carry you, like this,” answers Cas, lifting Dean into his arms. “You will hold on—ouch—yes, like that.” 

“Sorry,” mutters Dean. He tries to relax his grip around the angel’s neck. He’s not sure if his body actually responds to the command.

Cas is still talking logistics. Dean nods along with him until he catches something about “another time” and realizes Cas is offering him an out. 

“If I think about it any longer I’m going to chicken out,” says Dean. “Just go.”

“Are you certain?” 

“Just fly, Cas.”

The instant those inky black wings twitch, Dean slams his eyes shut. The wind picks up. That’s got to mean they’re in the air. Cas shifts Dean’s body and Dean hangs on tighter.

_It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad._

He needs a new mantra for air travel. He blanks. He can’t hear the logical part of himself over the panic. Has he always been this fragile? It’s a miracle John ever let him get out of the car, much less go hunting. 

The wind slows and Cas’ body stills. It takes Dean a second to realize they’re not falling. He risks opening an eye to make sure they’re on the ground. 

Cas lowers Dean from his arms. “Are you all right?” he asks. 

“I’m awesome,” answers Dean. “Just gonna sit here on the ground for a second.” His knees do not support him like he thought they would and he doesn’t even bother trying to cover it when he collapses into the grass. Soft black feathers brush against him and block out the world. 

Cas is beside him. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” answers Dean. He stares at the long black feathers. “I’m going to panic about it again for a few more seconds, then I want to give it another shot.” He remembers the first time Cas sheltered him; when they’re funeral pyre erupted and Cas’ wings kept him from getting burned. Cas’ wings would never fail him. He trusts them. He trusts Cas. He loves Cas. He takes the angel’s hand. “I’m ready,” he says. “Let’s try this again. Maybe I’ll get brave and open my eyes.”

“I will not drop you.”

“I know,” says Dean. “I trust you.” As soon as they’re airborne Dean shuts his eyes.

_I trust you. I trust you. I trust you._

The wind slows and Cas shifts Dean in his arms. They’re not on the ground though. Dean can hear and feel as Cas’ wings moving. He thinks he says something. He’s not sure.

“We are hovering approximately fifteen feet above the ground,” says Cas.

_Fuck my life._

“Do you want to get down?”

“No,” answers Dean. “I’m trying to get brave. I really want to look but I also really don’t want to see how high we are.” 

“A fall from this height most likely, would not hurt you.” 

“Gee, thanks,” mutters Dean. He tries not to focus on the “most likely” part. Cas is either trying to reassure him by pointing out that the worst-case scenario isn’t that bad, or comfort him with humor. For whatever reason, it works. Dean counts to three, then slowly opens his eyes. Cas is staring back at him. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says. 

Dean grins. Cas is patient and kind, completely in control and he looks so damn pleased with himself. “Hey, Cas,” he says. He risks a quick glance down. “Ok,” he mutters, “this isn’t as terrible as I thought it was going to be.”

Cas is practically glowing. “Would you like to go higher?” 

Dean doesn’t miss the note of hope in his voice or the way the corner of his mouth twitches to conceal a smile. This is Cas’ world and he’s sharing it with a human—a hunter. Dean nods. “Yeah,” he answers, “fuck it. Let’s go higher.”

_I swear to God, as long as I’m alive no one will ever hurt you again._

 


	34. Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the ending. I might do some timestamps or maybe a sequel or something. It's been fun writing in this AU. 
> 
> If you've enjoyed my writing, check out my website: captainlilybob.com
> 
> I wrote an honest to god book with editing and a planned plot and cover art...whole nine yards. 
> 
> If you enjoy allusions to religious themes, a smattering of heresy and a heaping dollop of bromance, you might enjoy my novel. The first half is posted online for your consideration. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my fic and feeding my bloated ego. You guys are the best.

Dean is selfish and doesn’t regret it one damn bit. He monopolizes Cas’ time while he’s at Bobby’s. Anna leaves after a day, but Gabriel stays around. Sam and Jess interview Gabriel about angel culture. Bobby calls bullshit on about fifty percent of Gabriel’s answers. At some point, it becomes a challenge, with Gabriel deliberately feeding the humans nonsense and waiting to see if they figure it out. Bobby and Jess are like human lie detectors. Sam doesn’t seem to realize it’s a game.

Dean lets Cas fly him up to the roof of the house. They can hear the others debating on the front porch. 

“So wings don’t really disappear,” asks Sam, “they just shrink? How does that work? Can I see?” 

“Sure,” answers Gabriel. 

“Honey, he’s fucking with you,” says Jess.

“How can you tell?” asks Sam. 

Gabriel starts giggling. 

“That’s how we can tell,” answers Bobby. 

“You suck at this,” says Gabriel. “How are you a doctor?” 

“My patients don’t lie,” snaps Sam. 

“How would you know?” asks Gabriel.

Dean doesn’t need to see them to know his little brother is pouting. Cas leans against his shoulder. One wing is curled around Dean, a habit that is quickly becoming the norm for them. Every time he feels feathers brush against his arm, Dean tries not to think about how much he’s going to miss them when Cas leaves. 

Right on cue, Cas wraps his other wing around them and takes Dean’s hand. He leads Dean’s fingers to brush against the soft feathers at the arch of his wing. 

Dean lets Cas control the movements, not daring to deviate from pace or motion the angel establishes. He can feel Cas’ hand trembling against his own. He’s sure Cas can feel how hard Dean’s heart is beating. 

Slowly, he leads Dean to touch a long silky primary feather. Dean remembers to breathe, then lightly runs a fingertip against the feather. Cas pulls his own hand away, trailing down Dean’s outstretched arm until his palm is resting against Dean’s shoulder. 

“I trust you,” says Cas. 

“Ok,” breathes Dean. Emboldened, he lets his whole hand rest against the feathers. 

Cas flinches and pulls his wing back slightly before tensing his shoulders and pushing his wing back into Dean’s touch. He turns his head and presses his face into Dean’s body. “I really do trust you,” he mutters. 

Dean pets the soft, silken feathers with one hand and rubs a gentle pattern against Cas’ side with the other. “I know you do.” 

 _I love you._  

He can’t bring himself to say it. It’s too soon and what if Cas doesn’t say it back? What if Cas does say it, but doesn’t mean it? He’s not even sure he means it. He loves his family. He knows how that feels. When he’s with Cas he has that same gut reaction to comfort and protect. The same fear that his family will disappear haunts him when he thinks of Cas. He’s calm when he’s with Cas—or calmer than he is when he’s alone. 

Maybe it’s not love that makes him want to dive into Cas’ soul and melt into the angel’s being. Maybe he needs Cas because he can’t be alone—because he’s afraid to lose another person, no matter how significant. Maybe it’s not love. Maybe Dean’s just needy. 

“I’m beginning to think stress is contagious,” mutters Cas. 

“Sorry.” 

“I’m not sure you started it.” 

Dean leans his cheek against Cas’ hair. “That’s us in a nutshell—an endless loop of freak-outs and stress.” 

“I’m told it gets easier.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Jessica.” Cas pushes his wing into Dean’s touch.

Dean slips his fingers into the feathers and they disappear into the blackness. They stay huddled together on the roof long after the others go back inside. 

xxx

Gabriel leaves in the morning. Cas leaves almost exactly 24 hours later. Dean wants to drown in whisky, but doesn’t because liquor is a poor substitute for his angel. Besides, Bobby and Sam keep him too busy to drink. 

Sam finds different ways to trap Dean into teaching impromptu angel anatomy lessons. Jess always manages to appear as soon as the conversation begins. Bobby decides Dean needs to learn how to fix a tractor and tows an ancient looking machine out of the garage.

These activities occupy a grand total of two days and do very little to distract from the constant pounding of _Cas, Cas, Cas_ in Dean’s thoughts. 

On the third day, Sam and Jess announce they will be leaving soon. Again. Everyone leaves. Dean tries to be as rational about it as he can and fails. They can’t all live at Bobby’s forever. Sam has a life, a home, and patients who need him to come back. At some point, Dean will have to make a life for himself too. He tries not to think about all the skills he doesn’t have or all the ways he does not fit in with the world. Instead, he spends his last few nights with Sam playing cards and sharing what he knows about angels and demons. 

It’s well after midnight when they finally call it a day. Dean heads up to his room. He’s tired, but doesn’t expect to sleep. Cas found a calling. He’s going to be a guardian. He’s going to have purpose. Sam and Jess found a calling. They save lives. They fill a void in the world. Bobby found a way to make the change from hunter to healer. The hunting network trusts him and Sam and Jess need him. 

Dean sits heavily on the edge of his bed. He fits in here because his family has made a place for him. John made a place for him, too. Dean’s not sure he’s ever made a place for himself. He’s not sure he knows how. 

He drops his head into his hands and tries to find that quiet place in his head that helps him feel numb. 

Suddenly something warm wraps around him and two arms pull him close. Dean doesn’t open his eyes. He breathes in the scent of honey and rain and surrenders to it. He melts into Cas’ body and rests his forehead on the angel’s shoulder.

“You came back,” mutters Dean.

“I said I would,” answers Cas. “I didn’t realize you doubted me.” 

Dean starts to protest, but Cas is faster. 

“Don’t bother denying it. Given your past and our somewhat tempestuous history, I suppose it’s only natural for you to question my sincerity.” 

“Sorry,” mutters Dean. 

“Don’t be.” Cas closes his other wing around them and suddenly Dean can breathe again. “I thought you might not be here when I returned,” says Cas. 

“Where the hell else would I be?” Dean means to laugh but the sound loses its humor somewhere in the back of his throat. 

 _Where would I go?_  

He changes the subject before Cas can comment. “When did you get back?” 

“Just a moment ago,” answers the angel. “I was going to wait until morning as not to wake the house, but I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” says Dean. 

“It’s strange, longing to see someone after only being apart for a few days.” 

“It’s endorphins or something,” mutters Dean. He inhales deeply, again filling his body with the scent of his angel. 

“It is not endorphins,” says Cas. 

Dean can almost hear the eye-roll. He grins against the angel’s skin. “I love you, Cas.” Dean doesn’t get the change to panic or wonder if he said that loud enough for Cas to hear.

The angel opens his wings and swiftly pushes Dean down onto the bed, pillows his head against Dean, then tucks them beneath a wing again. Cas wiggles closer. “I love you, too.”

Dean’s chest tightens and he bites his lip. Somewhere in his mind, a floodgate opened and now he’s drowning. He clings to the angel. “My life doesn’t have purpose,” he whispers.

 _Don’t tell Cas. He has enough to worry about_. 

“Neither did mine, until a few weeks ago,” answers Cas. “Someone once told me life gets different and things can get better or worse in the blink of an eye.” 

Dean closes his eyes. 

“You will find purpose,” whispers Cas, “but first you must heal. Rest for a few weeks, and see if you feel better.”

Dean laughs.

“Two weeks, to be specific,” says Cas. 

“Yeah, I get it,” says Dean. 

“I’m glad the irony of the situation is not lost on you.” 

Dean curls against Cas. 

“I’m glad you shared that with me,” says Cas. 

_I didn’t want to freak people out but I can't shut my big mouth around you._

“Does your family know you’ve attempted to take your own life in the past?” 

“No,” answers Dean. “Or, I don’t think so—I don’t know—I try to keep them out of it but they always seem to know more than I think they do.” 

“Good. They should be aware of your state of mind.”

“They don’t nee—” 

“Yes, they do. They love you and if given the chance to share the burden of your suffering I’m certain they would take it. You would do the same for them and you have done the same for me.” 

Dean wants to argue, but instead, just cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair. 

“You are the first person I’ve ever loved,” says Cas. “Do not take that away from me.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” 

Cas presses himself tighter against Dean's body. “The world has a place for you. If there is a place for someone like me, I’m sure there is a place for someone like you.” Cas lifts his head and kisses Dean gently. “You saved my life, you know.” He kisses Dean again. “You wrote to me in my language. You gave me the courage to hope someone could understand me.”

He kisses a spot just beneath Dean’s ear. “You understood my pain enough to compromise with me. You recognized my autonomy.” He pulls Dean’s hand down to the arch of his wing. “You helped me fly. You wanted me, but you let me go. You gave me my freedom.” 

“Cas, I—” The words catch and break as he tries to speak. 

“You are a warrior, and if the world won’t have you, the angels will.” He presses his wing into Dean’s hand and kisses him deeply. 

Dean feels something hot powerful snake through his body. He can feel Cas asking him to be quiet—to think and accept. He can feel it when the angel whispers “I love you,” and he can feel the angel’s joy when Dean whispers it back. 

He’s not a hunter anymore, but he is still a warrior; they both are. There will always be battles to fight and souls to save. Their worlds need people who are too worn down to break; too numb to hurt and too tainted to repent. They thrive in brutality and when their worlds cannot offer them comfort, they can find it with each other. 

 _I love you._  

Dean’s not sure if he’s thinking it or feeling it from Cas. It doesn’t matter. He’s sure they’re thinking the same thing.


End file.
